


Somewhat Damaged

by Bluandorange, ravenously



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Snowpiercer (2013), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bodyswap, Crossover, Gen, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:34:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 56,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluandorange/pseuds/Bluandorange, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenously/pseuds/ravenously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Curtis are switched bodily, in ways that could only be explained by.... Well, neither of them have the answer for that. </p>
<p>But because of it, Curtis is stuck in Captain America's body, in a world seventeen years earlier, before CW7 went up in the air. His only comfort is a recently rehabilitated Bucky Barnes, who looks at him with equal mixtures of pity, understanding and fear- fear that Steve will never come back. </p>
<p>Steve wakes up in the train of humanity's last playground, confused and cold and thrust into a plot to take over the train and liberate the men and woman that are treated like scum on a daily basis. </p>
<p>Neither do very well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tower I

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of an RP between bluandorange and I. There's plenty more to come, and it's equally ridiculous- this was as much a character study as anything. Feel free to ping us up, me at [Buckycurtis](http://buckycurtis.tumblr.com) and Blu at [Bluandorange](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com).
> 
> All you need to know about our process of writing:
> 
> Blu: (fUCK. Kris. Kris I think I ship Curtis and Bucky. Kris help)  
> Kris: ((OH GOD I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE))

Curtis started to realize he was waking up before the dream actually fell away and he was so pissed at himself for it. Wherever he was, whatever this dream was, he felt comfortable and warm and safe and everything smelled clean and it was blessedly quiet and there were arms around him just holding him gently and it was such a nice dream. 

He hadn't had a dream this nice in years, or one so deep he couldn't hear the train shifting or Edgar's snoring, or the shuffling of the early risers across the way who always got chatting too soon and.

If he was already complaining about his neighbors, he was too awake not to hear them. Why couldn't he hear them? Why couldn't he feel the wall of the car against his shoulder blades or the weight of his coat or smell his pillow that was not soft, was threadbare and pancake thin, not fluffy and--

Curtis opened one eye just enough to look at what his head was pillowed against. It was white. He turned his face just enough to press his nose against it and it smelled clean, it smelled like soap and detergent and only a little sweat, and even that was unfamiliar. Not his. For God's sake, he knew what his own sweat was supposed to smell like, he knew how just about everyone's sweat smelled, sour from years of eating those goddamn protein blocks--

There were still arms around him. 

Curtis was moving, pulling the arms from around him as he scrambled out of the bed. The bed--the bed was huge. It had to take up at least half the damn train car and his stomach turned over and clenched at the realization, the confirmation that he was somewhere in the front. He'd been in some man's bed. 

When had they taken him? If he was drugged, why didn't he feel it? Shouldn't he be hung-over? Curtis' feet started to fail him and he staggered back against a dresser. 

No, no, he'd definitely been drugged, the dimension to the room were all wrong, it was too wide and asymmetrical, it was impossible, and he couldn't feel the train moving under him, everything was too quiet and too still and they'd definitely done something to him. They'd done something. 

And Curtis was panicking, breaths drawn in quick and shallow and he tried, he tried to make sense of it all.

\--

"Mrff..." Bucky grumbled to himself as soon as Curtis moved away because goddamn, Steve, it's too early, even for you, peeking open his eyes to half-slits as he watched the man actually move out of the bed, seeming to... Stagger...? 

Okay, that was definitely not normal, and last time he checked, Steve was still supersoldier enough not get drunk, especially not while the two of them were sleeping. He made a few more displeased groaning sounds- because as much as he would figure out why Steve was being ridiculous, he didn't have to like it- before sitting up, slowly and lithe like a cat (mostly because as much as Steve argued, he knew the stupid kid liked it), blinking over at him.

Blinking over, it seemed, at a Steve who seemed to have no idea where he was at, who seemed to be... Aw, hell, panicking? Fuck. He hadn't had one of those in months. 

But nonetheless, his light-hearted mood was dragged down to the bottom in a second as he woke himself up fully, slipping out of the bed and over to the blond man in a second, slow and open, just in case. He knew how being trapped in your own head worked.

"Steve?" He asked, hands outstretched and slow as he stood in front of him, not touching, not yet, just there, just in case to draw him out of his head. "Are you okay? You're safe, here with me, okay? It's Bucky, not. All safe."

There was something wrong about this, something so completely above what he was getting, but hell if Bucky could figure it out yet, before eight o'clock on a weekend and before, most importantly,coffee. But right now, priority number one as to calm Steve down.

\--  
Curtis scrambled back from the man, finding his footing and seating himself in the holy rage he felt coursing through him--that he'd been taken, and used and this motherfucker wanted him to feel safe. 

"Don't you fucking touch me," he hissed. "I'll rip your throat out with my teeth you fucking touch me again." It was a promise in every sense of the word and he stared into the man's eyes and hoped to God he saw just how fucking serious Curtis was. They didn't know what breed of animal they'd caught. They'd forgotten. He'd rather they beat him than fuck him and keep him for a pet, give him a new fucking name and tell him everything was fine, what the fucking hell was wrong with these people?

\--

Well. 

Bucky blinked, raising his eyebrows. Even as feral and freaked as Steve got, this was... Well this just wasn't him. And he didn't look like he was... Vacant, like he was gone and somewhere deep in German forests... No. He looked present and there in an altogether visceral way.

He took a step back anyways, running his left hand through the loosened bangs, grimacing somewhat as strands ran through the metal joints and snagged. You'd think he'd get used to that, but nope. He always did it. Getting his hand free, he looked at the man again, pressing his lips together. 

So. He wasn't having a panic attack or a PTSD episode. So maybe he was mad at Bucky. God knows why, but it was better than nothing. "Right. Let's start from the beginning, then, huh? You're pissed at me and you've suddenly gotten very creative with your threats. And I, for one, remember going to bed happy, so this warrants some explaining."

\--

The movement drew Curtis' eyes and--the fuck was wrong with that man's arm? Was it. Was that really all metal? He wouldn't've worn armor to bed, right? And that sure as hell wasn't like any armor Curtis had ever seen. But it wasn't like any prosthesis Curtis had ever seen, either. 

His eyes roamed over it, trying to suss it out, eyebrows shifting lower as he tried to understand the implications, of new limbs of this complexity, made of polished metal and God, he could only think of Gilliam, of Roberts and Elijah and how much they deserved this. How little this Front Section passenger did, compared to them. 

He sucked in a deep breath through his nose to keep from just throwing himself at the bastard right then and there. The anger was alive in his eyes, in the flush that went down to his sternum.

"Oh, I'm very creative," he promised. "Now, you're gonna tell me how the hell I got from the Tail to your fucking bed, and then you're gonna send me back, no questions asked, or I'll show you just how creative I can get."

\--  
Bucky clucked a tongue at Curtis, cocking his head as he fully analyzed him, from head to foot. Noticed the way he was standing and held himself. Noticed the way he spoke, with none of those lovely Brooklyn undertones. And honestly, did he take some shrooms before they went to bed? Because... Jesus, this was weird.

"What the fuck, Steve? Think you're still dreaming up fairy princesses and shit," He said, waving his fingers in the air. Honestly, the absolute anger in his eyes were what was really unsettling. Bucky had never seen such fury directed at him before. Oh, at other things, certainly. At Hydra and nazis and other goons of Bad News, but not him, "Still. Last I checked, you, um, live here. And I'm cold and I want to sleep still, so can you please stop being... Weird."

And really. Tail? What even...? "What tail are you talking about? Come to beeeeed." Okay, so maybe he wasn't as awake as he previously thought. He's rather enjoying sleeping in, thank you very much.

\--  
Curtis was getting nowhere with this guy. Probably a Kronol addict, if he was mistaking Curtis for his lover and had no idea why he'd be upset. And hurting a Front Section passenger would probably feel really good for like two seconds, and then he'd probably wind up dead, or lose an arm for no good goddamn reason, so violence was out. 

He took quick stock of himself, then, chocking up whatever strange proportions he might find himself taking to the drugs in his own system wearing off--oh god he really hoped he hadn't been huffing Kronol, too, he really didn't need that addiction on his shoulders--and he was thankfully in a pair of boxers. He also smelled clean, so maybe--

He looked behind him and found the door--it looked old world as all fuck and that was disorienting to say the least. He yanked it open and the hinges groaned, the door left slanted at an odd angle because he'd--what, he'd managed to yank it half-way off? How'd he done that? He just opened it? Was it that flimsy--oh it didn't matter. 

Curtis was out of here, he was done, he was--

The walls were windows and the room was impossibly spacious but the walls were windows and outside them--

Outside, the sun was rising over a city scape. He could see for miles, he was high enough to see the whole damn city and there wasn't even a trace of snow. It was vibrant with life and color and Curtis couldn't breathe, he couldn't believe he was seeing this, it couldn't be true. 

He realized it was stationary, so no, no it couldn't be true. It was a painting or just a video screen, it was a hallucination, he had to go he couldn't stand here and wait for that whackjob with the arm to call the guards. Curtis cupped his hand over each side of his face and forced himself to keep walking, to find an exit. 

There was a set of double doors just past the kitchenette--fucking christ he thought he'd never see the likes of which again, didn't linger, didn't check for food they'd just take from him anyways--and his feet brought him to them faster than he expected but at least they fucking opened.

\--

"Okay. Steve? I'm honestly worried now. You give me enough shit when I break things, and... wait. Wait, Jesus. " Bucky scurried after him, careful to stay just out of reach. Something was seriously Up, with a capital U, with Steve, and the more cautious, battle weary portions of his mind were telling him to proceed with caution. Everything about thks was pinging on all his alerts and mental radars.

"Can'ya jus... slow down for a minute? Talk, maybe? Without the whole... maiming you promised earlier?" Which. Yeah, that was still sitting heavy in his gut. That was so unlike him, much more like /Bucky/ when he'd been half in the thralls of programming. 

He glanced down to make sure he wasn't stark naked- and small wonders for boxer briefs, he wasn't- before continuing to just trail Steve. May Maybe he'd calm down. "Seriously. You're freaking me out."

\--

Curtis spun on his heel and raised a hand, then a fist, then a finger at the man. "Don't follow me," he said, their eyes locking. He hadn't even seen where the doors led to, so he fucking prayed that when he turned back around, he wouldn't be staring down the barrel of a gun. He held the man's gaze another second, trying to make it clear in his own that he had every intention of following through on his earlier threats and more, before turning back around and rushing through the doors--

Only to run headlong into a wall. The wall gave against him and Curtis looked down to see he'd bent the railing attached to it. Bent it like it were cheap copper. He looked around and realized the doors had led to a fucking box. It almost--god, it reminded him of an elevator, but there was no way...

\--  
"What, you want some privacy as you stomp around in some holler of a fuss?" Bucky point blank ignored the threats, and stepped into the elevator behind him, rolling his eyes at the destruction Curtis was creating. He rubbed his flesh hand over his eyes, groaning. What What a fucking morning. "Not happening, Steve."

"Like literally no one else is awake because js fucking early." Bucky said with with a flourish of his hand. "Ugh. Jarvis, there better be coffee ready when I came back up."

There was a pause and then clipped, posh tones Rang through the elevator, a soft note of, "Of course, Mister Barnes." 

\--

Curtis tensed, took to one corner, felt like a damn caged animal. He took hold of the railing behind him and bent it, too, without meaning to. He decided not to focus on that, just. Not hold so tightly. 

"I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not your Steve," he said. He tried to sound anything but frightened. He thought he about managed something close to 'conversational'.

\--

Bucky furrowed a brow, looking Curtis up and down for maybe the third time this morning, keying in on where he had made the metal collapse. "Riiiiight." He drew out, scratching at the side of his face with metal digits. 

It was batshit to even ponder, but this was /not/ how Steve moved. Wasn't how he formed facial expressions. In fact, short of actually changing his face, Bucky could very well see how this was Not Steve. He turned as the elevator started to close, sticking one of his hands in the door so it would stay open. "Okay, not-Steve. You sure do look like him. And last I checked, there's only two super soldiers runnin' around and you're lookin' at the other one." He cocked a brow, trying not to let his disbelief show. Something was jarred in Steve's head, was all. 

He thought for a moment and then said, "I swear to god if this is a joke and you say 'who the hell is Steve' out of spite, I will punch your super ass back to Brooklyn."

\--

"My name," he said, "is Curtis." And to be honest, he felt a lot better in that little metal box than he did in that wide-open room with its fake-ass windows showing him impossible things he did not have the goddamn time to ponder over. "I don't know you, or why you think I'm your anything. And you can joke all you want, I still won't know who the hell Steve is."

\--

"Curtis?" Bucky scrunched up his face, scratching at his neck idly. What a name. And. Fuck. This was new. Completely and utterly and... where the fuck was Steve then? God, this was so much worse than he thought. Scenario one, off the top of his head, was that Steve developed multiple personality disorder. Scenario two was that somehow his super boyfriend was magically someone he didn't know. Right. It was fucking seven in the morning and that was too early to deal with this. 

"Okay. 'Curtis.' Can you get out of the elevator? If we're just gonna stand around, doing jack shit, then I'm drinking coffee and making breakfast." He raised a finger, blinking. Best to just go with it, at this point. Honestly, better than Steve being all pissy mad at him for no reason. "Mrs. Barnes didn't raise a fucking animal. I've got some hospitality left in me that they didn't fuck out of my head." He patted at the side of his skull then stepped out of the elevator, going back to the small kitchenette.   
\--

"Sir," said the brit again--Jarvis, he'd been called?--"Should I refrain from alerting anyone about the Captain's current status?"

Curtis had the sinking suspicion the 'captain' was him. He didn't question it, just watched Barnes as he (reluctantly) stepped from the elevator--

Elevator. Barnes had called it an elevator, and that's--that's. That's not possible.

\--

Bucky thought about it for a moment before sighing, looking over at Ste- Curtis. Evidently. "Yyeaaahh. That's probably best. I don't want Stark poking around yet." He scratched at the back of his neck and leaned against the island counter, turning his head when the man came through the elevator. 

He sighed, gesturing for Curtis to come sit, grabbing a couple mugs from the cabinet and stalking over to the coffee machine. As guilty as it made him to tell the AI to get it working, Jarvis managed to Get Shit Done, and there was already a pot of of the liquid sitting ready. He poured it into the mugs and slid one across the counter, setting his own down to grab for the sugar. "Y'want milk?" He asked as he poured the white crystals into his mug, sliding the box over by him as well.

\--

The smell of coffee only got stronger as Curtis drew near and it quickly became overpowering. His stomach lurched, responding to what his mind couldn't remember, couldn't account for. Curtis put a hand to his mouth and nose and sat as far away from the coffee maker as possible. "No thanks," he said. "I'm good."

\--

Bucky eyed him again before nodding slowly. "Okay, I believe you ain't Steve. He woulda never turned down a good cuppa joe." He stirred his own coffee and took a sip, making a pleased noise in the back of his throat. Okay, so maybe he was still a little incredulous, and majorly suspicious, but playing it to its end was the only way he was going to manage to figure anything out. 

He eyed how nauseous the man looked at just coffee, and he blinked, frowning. "You gonna hurl? Here, can you like... start from the beginning? Do I gotta start worrying about Doppelgängers coming up from the sewers? "

\--

"No coffee in the Tail Section," he said, because its a good'a place to start as any. "What do you want me to say?" Curtis asked, irritation in his tone. "I went to sleep in the back of the train and woke up next to you. I don't know how I got here, and if you aren't responsible," he shrugged. "I don't know who is."

He still couldn't feel the train. That was starting to make him feel sick, too. Without the sway, being on what felt like solid ground...

And he was sitting here, stripped to his underwear, and he wasn't the least bit cold. He could chock that up to the Front getting better heat, but there was no rattle of pipes, no nothing, just him and Barnes and...the fruit that was just sitting out, waiting to rot. Curtis gave it a long look before he leaned over and picked up an apple from the arrangement. 

\--

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, slowly inclining his head before he sucked in his lips, nodding. "Right. Well. You're insane. We're not on a fucking train." No, no. He did not want to go there. "You do realize we're in the middle of Manhattan, right?" He stalked across the room, because seriously this was getting trippy and worrying and downright freaky, and opened up the remaining two windows, gesturing to the skyline with an impatient metal hand. 

\--

Curtis turned to watch him, suspicious, and then immediately regretted it. A shudder passed through him as he realized he was going for windows, that they were opening and there was no blast of chill once they had. Curtis whipped around, not thinking about it, not thinking about it.

He dropped the apple to the counter when he felt he'd started to crush it on accident. Curtis ran his hands through his hair and then fisted his fingers in it because it was longer, why the fuck was it longer? He tugged and only felt the pull of his own scalp so it--it was his? It was attached? 

Nothing made sense. 

Curtis leaned on his elbows and breathed and...retreated. He went away, because thats what he did when he couldn't handle things. He went away, he stopped thinking, he shut down. He could not so he wasn't going to. 

\--

"See? No train..." Bucky turned back to gauge the man's reaction, because something was obviously off here. He turned back and... The man was in his head. Oh, no doubt, he knew what it looked like. Though it had been reflected on himself more often than the others he had met, he understood just completely shutting down, had seen it in Steve several times. And even though the man with Steve's face wasn't Steve, it still frightened him.

He had no idea why opening a goddamn window would make someone just... Go away for a while- and maybe he was biased, but large spaces and opened windows helped him at least- but, well, he'd deal with it. Stepping lightly, openly across the room, he went into Curtis' line of sight, snapping his fingers slowly in front of him. "Hey, hey... What's wrong, anyways. I mean, I know you don't know me and all that, but... It's jus' a window. Uh... Curtis, right...? I'll just make some food and we'll figure this out. Yeah? Eggs and bacon, those are good, yes." He wasn't going to do anything until he responded, at least, but talking things out, soothingly calmly tended to help others so do it he would.

\--

Curtis came back slow, only catching bits and pieces of what Barnes was saying, brain and stomach latching onto the mention of food, but he forced it away, he forced it away he wasn't going to--He couldn't eat right now--

"You said," and he paused to run his hands down his face. The fact he was clean shaven didn't frighten him as much as the long hair did--a shave was easy, something he could be out for. But it added up, though, didn't it? It all added up. "You said we're off the train." He brought his eyes up to meet Barnes. His voice remained low. "How the fuck is that possible?"

\--

Bucky leaned back a bit and straightened, sucking in a lower lip as he regarded the other man, regarded just how fucking weary he seemed. Much more than Steve, oh yes, and that was saying something. Maybe not lately, but. Still. "Well..." He said slowly, letting his left hand rotate around at the wrist, jointed fingers moving to whir in pop in comforting little twitches- he had no idea why but it always grounded him. 

"Well. We haven't been on a train in a while. I try to avoid them, in all honesty. Unless 'train' here means something else that I'm just not getting."

 

\--

"Wilford's train," Curtis elaborated. "We're--what year is it?" He sat back, the realization sparking in him. "This before the freeze? Am I in the past?" His voice had gotten higher with the question and he made an all-encompassing motion with one finger. 

\--

Bucky stared at him for another moment, before nodding sharply. Okay,time to busy himself. And if he had to think about what year it was for a couple seconds, then just chalk it up to morning confusion. Or something. "It's 2014." He said, opening the fridge to peer in at what they had, grabbing a carton of eggs and some of that fancy 'sprouted grain' bullshit bread that Steve liked to get, the kind that just had to be refrigerated. 

He glanced over at Curtis again, still a bit wide-eyed and stiff. "No freezes." And what the hell was he talking about with the past? Honestly, he'd just gotten over the way time seemed to move all strangely in his memory, no need to open up a new wound and freak him out all over again.

\--

Curtis groaned and covered his face in his hands. "What? Why. Why am I--Wait." He turned to Barnes again--his expression was far more open now, confused and worried and ready to take action if his fears were confirmed. "Have they started it yet? CW7, are they--have they done the trials? When's it going up? How long do we have?"

\--

"Okay, look pal, I know I'm a little out of the loop, but I have no idea what you're talking about." He turned to grab a skillet from one of the cabinets, turning on the stove and throwing a glob of butter in there, stepping back to the counter to grab at a few eggs. Better to keep his hands idle while insanity happened. "I'm going to safely say 'no,' but we can always ask Stark later. How do you like your eggs?"

\--

Curtis couldn't remember. He couldn't remember how he liked any of his food prepared--'cept for his meat, and that thought sent a jolt of sickness through him so fast he had to cover his mouth to keep his gullet down. He scraped his hand across his lips--his hand was soft and his lips felt healthy, not one bit chapped or cracked--and said, "no, s'okay, I'm. I'm good."

He kept his hand propped there, against his chin, until he realized something, "What about that Jarvis guy. The one who made your coffee. Would he know? I'm not kidding around; this is important."

\--

"Um. Jarvis?" Bucky eyed him again, but just shrugged, closing the eggs and putting them back into the fridge and turning the stove off, tapping a few metal fingers on the table top.

"CW7 is still in the developmental stage, sirs. From what information I can gather, talks will begin within the next several months." The AI's voice floated through the room, and Bucky shrugged, inclining his head.

"'K. Does that answer your question?" Bucky asked, blinking.

 

\--

"We have to stop it," Curtis said automatically. "Well--I have to stop it. I have to try." Yupp. Okay. That was the plan. There was his plan of action. Curtis got up and made a break for the bedroom, where he assumed he'd find clothes in his size. 

He yanked the first drawer out faster and with more force than he meant to--how did he keep doing that???--and the whole thing landed in his lap with a clatter. "Jesus."

 

\--

"Okay, um, Curtis? Hold your fucking horses, okay?" Bucky went to follow him, eyeing him when he managed to pull out the entire drawer. Yeah, obviously he wasn't used to Steve's strength. Which was kind of strange, but whatever. With his fucked up life, it's easier to just accept it. "Jarvis said several months... And we're in the house of someone with a lot of political sway so... Could you like, slow down a bit?"

Not the mention he still had no idea what CW7 was. "And could you explain? I mean, I get you don't know why you woke up in my oh-so-loving embrace, but you seem spooked. Like 'I just got drafted' spooked."

\--

Curtis allowed himself a moment to act childish, the throw his hands up and take a breath before he started in. "CW7 is some chemical they plan on shooting into the atmosphere to combat global warming," he said. "What its going to do is freeze the planet. The only people who survive are going to be the ones on a shitty train traveling the world in an endless loop, and if they didn't pay to be there, their lives are going to be Hell. Literally Hell." He looked at Barnes, said the rest while he held his eyes. "I know because I was seventeen when CW7 went up, I boarded that train without a ticket, and I've been living in that Hell for the last seventeen years. Now, somehow, I'm here. And I'm going to stop that shit from ever getting in the atmosphere, because what the hell else would I do, thrown back in time to right now, literally right before it fucking starts."

\--

Bucky stared at him- he realized that he'd been doing that a lot, but under the circumstances, he felt he was justified- and swallowed. The world under ice. Wow. Talk about. Sometimes he freaked out if he opened the freezer a little too fast and didn't prep himself. Let alone total ice age. But at least it was something that maybe they could do something about. 

He glanced at the drawer of clothes and then down at himself, still in nothing but briefs, and nodded, stepping over to another dresser to grab a pair of pants and a sweater, shucking them on as he said, "Well. That sure. You're from the future then. For some reason, that's a recurring theme in my life, because of course Bucky Barnes can't catch a break. Right." He popped his head through the collar, then undid his hair, fixing it back up and brushing the bangs out of his face to tie back up into a loose bun... Thing. He didn't know what it was called. 

"We gotta talk to Tony, then. Billionaire could probably throw some cash at it, cite that it's 'bad' and poof. Problem solved. I guess."

\--  
Curtis pulls a shirt out of the drawer in his lap. It's a relief that 'Bucky' believed him. It was also a relief to know his own hair wasn't so long that he had to worry about pulling it back, too. Once dressed, he left the dresser drawer on the floor and moved back into the living area, toward the elevator. "Let's go."

"Sir is currently in his lab," Jarvis said, "I will let him know that this is an urgent matter, but I cannot promise he will allow you access." 

Curtis felt an old grin creeping up on his face as he shook his head. He didn't have it in him to tap it down. It just--of course. Of course the billionaire wouldn't see him. Even though he was clearly in the body of someone far better off than Curtis ever was, he was still entirely disposable. 

\--

"By fuck he won't. He'll want his science paws all over this, weird ice age or not." Bucky said out loud, stepping into the elevator after Curtis, jabbing a finger at the correct level floor. It had taken him months to figure it out, in all honesty, the flooring system and where everything was, but he was about... 70% confident he hit the right floor.

As the doors slid shut and the elevator began to move down (He'd worked hard on not freaking out about the small area, but even so, he still normally took the stairs), he let his fingers twitch and make more idle little noises to keep him occupied, and looked over at the man who wasn't Steve, blinking. "So. Any reason why you're in Captain America's body, you thinkin'?"

\--  
Curtis raised an eyebrow. "That who Steve is?" he asked. Something was tickling at the back of his brain. He knew that moniker. Not just the 'America' part, the whole thing. 'Captain America'...

He blinked, did something of a double-take. "Wait, you mean like the superhero?"

\--

 

Bucky gave a toothy grin, raising his brow suggestively. "Got it in one. There's a reason you've been breaking my floor all morning." He glanced up at the floor they were on, cursing how fucking tall Stark had to make his tower. Damn compensation, that was all it was. "Red, white and blue. It's dorky."

\--

Curtis looked back down at his hands with new appreciation. Though...though they still looked like his hands. Clean, sure, perhaps with finer hair, but...his. And his voice sounded right, too. 

"I'm stuck in Captain America," he mused aloud. 

\--

"Stuck. Evidently." Bucky huffed out a laugh, cocking his head. "So, um, welcome to Avengers Tower, Curtis. This is weird, talking to you in Steve's body, but we'll get down to it." He glanced back at the elevator and gave a sigh of relief that they were nearing the right floor, and all but shot out as soon as the double doors opened, waving a hand over to him. "C'mon."

\--

Curtis raised an eyebrow at the way Bucky hi-tailed it out of the elevator. He realized then that the man had been acting fidgety inside it--was his claustrophobic? Good thing he lived on some huge high-rise in Manhattan, then. With...superheroes. 

He was trying to be nice, though. And he was trying to believe Curtis and seemed to have his back on the CW7 thing, even if he only had Curtis' word to go on. 

"Hey," he said, as he caught up with Barnes. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier. The threats. I was freaked out, but I won't actually. You know." He tried for a casual smile. "Especially since I apparently don't know my own strength."

\--

Bucky rose an eyebrow, and a grin shot across his face. "I wasn't worried. You couldn't take me if you tried. Especially because you don't know how to work your super body." And because he was evidently in a good enough mood- or maybe it was just a removal from reality because honestly what the fuck- he winked, shooting Curtis a look. "I've said and done much worse than threats, bucko." His eyes flashed darkly for a moment before he continued to walk down the hallway, where the door of Stark's lab sat, noises already rising towards them.

This Curtis guy was severe enough, pulling Steve's face down into harsh frowns as though it were his default but he didn't seem horrid. And he was apologizing for something that Bucky hadn't even thought to take seriously. So that was some major kudos, right there. 

\--

There was something in Barnes' expression that made Curtis believe him about having 'done worse'. He didn't know how he felt about that. Didn't know if that made them kindred spirits or not. 

He wondered what Captain America was doing palling around--or sleeping with?--people Curtis could consider a 'kindred spirit'. 

He pushed those thoughts down, though, as they walked through the lab doors and he remembered, right, they were here to talk to a high-roller. His mind said 'front passenger', and he knew he was both right and not all at once. He put on his game-face and decided he'd let Barnes do the talking. 

\--

As soon as Bucky walked through the doors, there was a clank of metal from somewhere in the wide space, and a face popped up from the table, hair sticking straight up and half of his face red from having passed out on the workbench. Tony Stark blinked and gave a slow little wave, rubbing at his eyes before sitting up more, creaking out his back with a couple of loud pops. "What're you doing here? It's like... 3 in the morning...?"

"It's eight." Bucky shrugged his left hand into his pocket immediately, always with a little trepidation to come into any lab. Even if it was just Tony, Tony who he trusted. "Jarvis said he'd speak to you 'bout something."

"Well I was sleeping and I told him to leave me alone, Snowflake." Tony retorted, looking over at Curtis and rolling his eyes. He looked around and picked up the face plate he had been working on- or just keeping near him, who knew with Tony- and set it back on the table, scratching at his head. "You didn't even bring me Starbucks. I'm disappointed in you, Cap."

"Yeah, that's part of the reason we're here, bugging you so early." Bucky started, gesturing to Curtis. He could just flat-out say it wasn't Steve, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to yet. But. Then again, with this new information... "This ain't Steve. Some... Like... It's some fella named Curtis."

Tony eyed Curtis up and down, curling his upper lip and nodding slowly. "Riiiiiiight. And I'm Marilyn Monroe. I'll even do a twirl in that short-ass dress."

\--

"We don't really have time for the drag-show," Curtis said. The good humor he'd shown to Barnes in the last few minutes was gone. His voice was flat and rough around the edges, even if his throat felt better than it had in years. He met the shorter man's eyes, tried to hold them and impress just how little he felt like beating around the bush. "CW7, the cooling chemical they plan to shoot into the atmosphere, do you know of it?" 

\--

"Is this like a Vulcan Mind Meld?" Tony asked, looking at Curtis incredulously. "Like. This really isn't Star Spangled Hottie?"

Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes and shoving his hand deeper in his pockets. "Tony."

Tony flicked his gaze over to Bucky and then back to Curtis, blinking. "Right. But we're talking about this later, uh, Curtis." He flicked a hand through the air, coughing slightly. "Okay. CW7. That's the thing they're testing out so the polar bears can live. Yeah. Jarvis, pull up some articles, hmm?"

"Yes, sir." Several holographic, blue-lit articles popped up over the workbench, and Tony sorted through them with a flick of his hand, scanning idly. "What about it?"

\--

Although he REALLY wanted to stand and gawk at the 'futuristic'--futuristic his ass, he was seventeen years in the past right now--bullshit happening around him, he kept focused on Tony. 

"Its not going to work. It's going to freeze the planet and everyone… only a little over two thousand people are going to survive. If that." He motioned to Barnes. "He says you have political sway. Can you stop it?"

\--

Tony was very much intrigued now. Not that he wasn't before, but this... Oh, this was something beautiful, a nice little puzzle for him to ponder over. A giant grin grew on his face and he stepped closer to Curtis, looking him and down. "Okay, I accept you're not the cap. Grumpier than the Cap, if that even works. Jesus, Barnes, did you say it was eight? No wonder I'm starving. We're getting breakfast together, later. Anyways..." 

He turned back to the articles and scanned them quickly, looking up at Curtis. "Okay. So are you from the future, then? This isn't just... Like Star Trek, this is a whole new level of clusterfuck. I like it. Well. The freezing part, not so much." He flicked his gaze to Bucky, who was both eerily still and still managed to look exhausted with Tony's antics, already.

"Why should I believe you? How do I know this isn't just some sort of... thing that's a prank or something? From what I've read, the CW7 seems pretty nice. If a little redundant, considering the atmosphere itself, but whatever. Not a... What would that kinda person be called?"

"Environmentalist, sir."

"Right, I'm not an environmentalist, so I have no idea, but I can imagine, right? So. Facts. Gimme gimme." Stark rubbed at his stomach, pulling up his shirt slightly, and for such an energetic rant, his movements were, so far, still sleepy and hampered with drowsiness.

\--

Curtis hated him already 

"Yes. I'm from the future. The planes start dumping CW7 in July, everything is fucked by August. I can't give you the specifics; I was seventeen--am, seventeen, out there, somewhere," he motioned vaguely in the direction of one of the walls, "when it happens. Wilford--look up Wilford. He's building a train that goes around the whole world; its the only thing that's going to keep running when the new ice age hits. It's probably finished by now, or its getting there, I don't know."

\--

Tony's eyebrows just rose higher and higher as Curtis spoke, and he eventually just nodded, waving a hand in the general direction of the suspended articles. More appeared beside those on CW7, on some sort of train. That. Yes, of course he'd heard of the train. More than bloody ice caps melting. He built things and could respect a train track around the world. That took skills. "Yeah, yeah, I've heard of the train." Tony murmured, stepping over to glance at the articles, blinking. "Really great feat of engineering. I was surprised, even."

He looked over at Curtis, giving an unimpressed look. "With a name like Wilford, though, I'm not surprised at the blatant overcompensation." He held up two fingers, about four inches apart, nodding somberly. Turning back, he flicked through the articles again, flicking the ones he didn't care for into oblivion. 

"Okay, so. An Ice Age a little less cute than that movie with the sloth, train that keeps folks alive. Wonderful. July? Really? Well, at least we have a while. Or, well, like a month and a half."

\--

So much of what Tony said and did just washed over Curtis like water and he didn't bat an eye. He didn't want to talk about Wilford or his Sacred Engine or his damn train-line. He didn't want to decide what he'd do if the train remained the only option for humanity. He just wanted to stop CW7 and make that fucking train obsolete. When Tony said a 'month and a half', though, Curtis' jaw tightened. 

"How much sway do you have exactly?" There was a beat as he decided that, yes, he'd go through with saying the next bit, "and how much sway would Captain America have, if he spoke out against it."

He was stuck in this meatsuit, he could at least do something with it.

\--

"Well..." Tony started, raising an eyebrow at Curtis. "Captain America isn't a scientist. But there's all sorts of celebrities that can sway the dumber masses. But the masses don't matter. It's the people testing this that matter." He flicked away all the articles relating to the train- even if he wanted to see how it ran, oh did he- and turned back to the two of them, pursing his lips. "And I'm the wrong kind of scientist, I think. But if this is doomed to fail and destroy humanity..." 

He rolled his eyes, seeming a bit too flippant about it. "I wonder if Banner would know. I always forget to ask him what kind of doctor he is. Buuuuuut... If I could get a sample of the stuff- whatever it is, haven't read that into it- and prove that it'll fuck things up." Tony shrugged, running fingers through his hair. 

But still. His thoughts went back to the train. Because. "Wait, you've been living on a train? And it just goes around the world? What about fuel? Sounds like it would need a lot, and if the world is ice you can't just go outside and pick up some more fuel. That sounds intriguing."

Bucky sighed, unpocketing his left hand and waving it in front of Stark's face, the other man following the metal like a trained dog, blinking rapidly. "More pressing matters, Stark."

\--

"How about this;" Curtis said, voice taking on an edge, his irritation starting to show. "You get that sample, I'll tell you all the dirty little details about Wilford's miracle train. If you don't, I won't. Because if you don't, and you can't stop this, you'll find out all about it anyways, since getting on board will be the only way you'll survive what's coming. Then you and Wilford can be buddies." 

They probably would be buddies after this. Fucking billionaire assholes. 

Curtis realized his hands had formed into fists and he slowly uncurled them, dragged his fingers over the palms to soothe the ache where his fingernails had started digging into his own flesh.

\--

Bucky stuck his hands back into his pockets and Tony turned away, pausing to flick off Barnes with a scowl. "I was planning on it, anyways. Considering the whole, I don't know, ice age thing?" Tony scoffed, turning to flick away the rest of the articles, rolling his eyes. "Jarvis? Get an email going to... Whoever needs the email... Saying that I have suspicions about this CW7 and I'll pay good money for a sample to do some testing. Chop chop."

"Yes, sir." 

"Though, I still do wanna know about the train. It's a little less Thomas the Tank Engine and a lot more the future." He grinned, ignoring the way that Curtis looked like he wanted to punch him. Considering most people wanted to punch him after he spoke, it was fairly easy. Even if it made him just want to rile them up. People were much too sensitive. "Annnnd, important things done. So you've, what? Been on a train for... However long? No real world? Constantly moving? Sheesh."

\--

Oh right, because Curtis was going to play dancing monkey to this asshole's curiosity. 

It looked to him like his meeting the man head-on just added fuel to the fire. Maybe, then, Tony was the kind of fire you suffocated. He turned to Barnes. 

"So you said, earlier, that we're in Manhattan." He fell into a more casual stance, tried to look as interested as possible in whatever answer he may get from the one-armed man. 

\--

Bucky looked over at him, nodding shortly. "Yes." 

Tony looked over at both of them, then rolled his eyes, physically pushing on both of their backs so they were stumbling to the door, looking highly amused. "Go out and buy breakfast from like, Starbucks, or something. And bring me back a cappuccino. With espresso shots."

Bucky looked back at him, scowling, swatting at his hand. "Too busy to get it yourself?"

"Too lazy. And if he's-" he waved at Curtis flippantly- "Has been on a train for... Well, I don't know, a long time, then maybe some Vitamin D would be good."

\--

Curtis allowed himself to be pushed only because he didn't feel like maiming the only person who could possibly save the human race. It wasn't until he was headed back for the elevator that he realized he. He could actually go outside. 

The thought short short-circuited something in him and he slowed to a stop, pausing just outside the elevators.

 

\--

Bucky turned just inside the elevator, holding an arm out to keep the doors from closing. He saw how Curtis just stopped, just seemed completely out of it, and clicked his jaw, taking a deep breath. "Okay, please don't make me stay in here for l longer than I need to. Let's go."

It was fucking weird that his boyfriend was not his boyfriend, and he knew they would need to get to the bottom of this soon, would need to find Steve-Steve as soon as possible, but for now, it seemed that Curtis was useful and helpful, even if he was hijacking Steve's body. 

\--

When he came back to himself, he realized he was terrified. 

He got into the elevator, eyes fixed into the middle distance as he said to Barnes, "How about we not go outside."

\--

Bucky's finger hovered on the button to go to the ground floor, and he cocked his head, turning to face Curtis with nothing but simple analytic blankness, if only for a moment. He blinked, dropping his hand. "You haven't been outside in a while. You seemed. Shocked about the windows."

He shrugged, pushing the button to the lobby anyways. "Your first time outside can't be worse than mine. I nearly killed at least two people." He gestured to Curtis, just idly watching the elevator numbers tick downwards. "Even with your newly enhanced body, I doubt you'll do worse than that.

\--

Curtis didn't want to think about what might make him regress that far. 

Taking in a deep breath, he squashed the urge to press a button for another floor and ditch Barnes then and there, and instead said, "why'd you kill them? Almost killed them."

\--

Bucky continued to stare at the numbers slowly dropping, stabbing his left hand into his pockets again.Great. Yet another person who would probably treat him on a tight rope's edge. But he wouldn't lie. Lying would do him no good. "Because I was programmed to be an assassin and didn't know how to be human." He said after a few moments of silence, going with the simple, base statement that he wasn't so sure wasn't true still. Some mornings, he sure as hell didn't feel human. He twisted his head, glancing at Curtis and giving a fake smile. "I'm better now."

\--

Curtis' expression softened, his eyebrows rising. He chewed on that, gave Bucky a little nod when he looked his way. 

"Apparently," he agreed. "You're sleeping with Captain America."

...Curtis realized that made Captain America gay. Huh.

\--

"Apparently. It's nothing new." Bucky said, rolling his eyes at Curtis' train of thoughts. What a subject change. "Which, thanks for the scare this morning." He blinked, forcing his shoulders to slump in relaxation even as they wanted to stiffen. Any small space did it to him after a while. The amount of floors were seriously ridiculous. 

\--

"Sorry," Curtis said, sincerely. "I was convinced at the time you had drugged and kidnapped me, but. Still. Sorry."

\--

Bucky blinked, and broke away from his mental counting to stare incredulously at Curtis. "What? Is that something that just... happens... to you? You don't need to be sorry, I think I can understand." He eyed the man with confusion and something like shock, all but shooting out of the elevator when it opened again, realizing as he stepped onto the cold tile that he'd forgotten shoes. 

Right. At least that was a normal occurrence. He beckoned for Curtis to follow him, stopping at the receptionist to ask for some shoes, thank you very much, and she rolled her eyes, looking completely put-off about having to do Stark's adoptions any favours, but grabbed a pair of boots and dropped them over the counter, Bucky shooting her a quick, if insincere, smile. 

"For the record, though. Um. No. I wouldn't do that." 

\--

Pointedly ignoring the world that lay outside the revolving doors at the end of the hall, Curtis leaned on the counter and glanced down behind it. 

"You wouldn't happen to have another pair of those back there, would you?" He gave the receptionist the most apologetic smile he could muster. 

\--

The receptionist rolled her eyes and popped her gum, but grabbed another pair of shoes, these ones a bit bigger, and went back to her typing, dismissive. "Anytime, Barnes and Rogers." She said, voice flat and slightly amused. 

"Okay let's go. Some of us are starving. How aren't you starving, by the way? You've got a bigger appetite than I do what with your fancy real serum metabolism." Bucky said, tying up the bootlaces and standing up straight again.

\--

Curtis toed into each boot and marveled for a moment at how stiff they felt--not at all like his boots back home, the ones he hadn't had reason to remove in over a month. He laced them up somewhat distracted by the sudden sense of wrong washing over him. 

"Uh--I. I never said I'm not," he stammered. He honestly wished Barnes hadn't drawn attention to it. He was starving. Felt like he hadn't eaten in at least a day, which didn't make sense. Couldn't Cap eat whenever he felt like it? He could get shoes whenever he felt like it. "I wasn't thinking about it."

\--

"Right. I guess that's understandable. It's been an annoyingly hectic morning. Good thing we're evidently going to... Uhh... Starbucks, according to Tony. We can get little cute pastries and shit." Bucky snorted, already starting to stalk across the lobby, dodging people and trying not to grimace, even now. 

"The 21st century is weird about pastries." Curtis was just damn lucky it'd been a good week, that he hadn't relapsed or broken or even had that many nightmares. That probably wouldn't have gone over well. 

\--

It was second nature to step around the people, even if none of them were familiar. Curtis knew how to fit himself through crowds, though he did have to remind himself more than once that it would be rude to touch any of these people as he passed especially close. 

And then he misjudged just how close he'd gotten to one woman and knocked her with his shoulder. He stopped, turned and apologized, was glad to realize he hadn't caused her to drop her--christ, was that a phone? He lingered on that probably a little too long, and the woman seemed to think he wanted something else from her because she hadn't moved on. He apologized, again, then turned to try and catch up with Barnes.

At least the little exchange had taken his mind off all Bucky's talk of food.

\--

God, now he remembered why he and Steve chose to leave later in the mornings or mid-afternoon, when there weren't so many crowds just lingering about. Bucky finally made it to the door and turned to find Curtis a little ways behind. He had a feeling that was going to happen a lot, which was. Wow. If Curtis was going outside for the first time in a while... Wow. Bucky was not the right person to be showing him around, considering half of the stuff was foreign to him as well.

But he would cross that bridge when he came to it. "Come on. Or I'm going to just stop at one of those shitty hot dog vendors, and I'd really rather not."

\--

"Christ, don't," Curtis said before he could stop himself. He caught pace with the man. "Lets get this over with..." God, they were getting to the doors. Outside was ungodly bright and--and the streets were full of people and cars and Christ. Christ. 

Curtis told himself he could do this. He could. It'd be fine, its not like he was a trainbaby, he'd spent seventeen years walking the Earth, he could go to a fucking Starbucks without having a mental breakdown. 

He could hear the commotion on the street long before they'd gotten through the doors--honestly thats what did it. It was so. It was so loud. Curtis was good for maybe two seconds, then he actually put his fingers in his ears to try and muffle the ruckus. 

And the smells of the city--they teased at him--he knew them despite having been away for so long, despite being from a world where this form of life had gone extinct, he knew, and the nostalgia was overwhelming. He was suddenly reminded of things he'd buried for years and years--the trips to the movies, the times he played hookey go hang with the older kids at the mall, ganging up on that kid who sold pot downtown so he and his friends wouldn't have to pay to get high--

Curtis hadn't realized he'd stopped, but he had, and he didn't exactly what he was feeling besides extremely overwhelmed.

\--

Bucky had a feeling their trip to Starbucks was going to take all damn morning at the rate Curtis was moving. You'd think he'd be a little more understanding, considering he had been there (then again, when it'd been time for him to try to go out for the first time, he'd just followed behind Steve blindly, like a shadow), but he was a bit impatient at the moment. 

"Okay, yes, let's move this along..." he groused, and just grabbed onto one of Curtis' hands with his left, pulling him out through the rotating doors and onto the streets, trying to ignore the almost absent look in the man's eyes.

 

\--

Curtis gasped when he was grabbed and he tried to wrench free, digging his heels in. 

\--

Damn him and being in the body of Steve Rogers, because that wrenched at his shoulder, the joint making a whirring noise that made him scowl, stopping in the middle of the street. "Bad city etiquette. Don't just stop, walk." He moaned, and if he sounded a little petulant, forgive him.

\--

The present slammed down around him and Curtis staggered forward, a breathy "Sorry" escaping through his tightness in his throat. 

It was just Barnes who had him, it wasn't a big deal, they were--he was right, he just had to walk. It wasn't hard to walk, he'd just walk, nothing scary about fucking walking, he was fine. Curtis was fine.

\--

"Okay. It's fine." Bucky waved a hand, then thought on it last moment and Grabbed at Curtis around the wrist again, with his flesh hand this time, deciding to just lead him rather than let him walk around wide-eyed and terrified. He didn't know why it would be scary for the man, would think, in his circumstances, that relief and happiness would be more apt, but then again, he hardly knew who he was, didn't even know anything from his past. So maybe this was all overwhelming for him. Right, he could deal with that. So long as he didn't keep shutting down, because that just... Fucked with his head in several ways. 

"Just coffee and breakfast. Then we'll go back." He promised, twisting his head to smile at him slightly, hoping he wouldn't notice how strained it was. He slipped his phone from his pocket and passed it back to Curtis, raising an eyebrow. "Do me a favour and text Stark, asking him if he wants anything to eat." He wriggled his metal hand, the unoccupied one, with a scowl. "Touch screen don't exactly work with this."

\--

While he was pretty sure he didn't like being led by the wrist by another man, it did help him keep putting one foot in front of the other and stay in step with Barnes without having to pay too close attention to their surroundings. He let the smartphone be passed to him but once it was there, he just kinda. Looked at it. 

"You do realize I haven't worked one of these things in seventeen years," he said. 

\--

"But you've worked them before. I still hardly understand them." Bucky replied, shooting the man an amused look. "I'm from the 40's. Texting is sort of... New."

\--

Curtis drew his eyes from the screen--which, yes, was very familiar now that he looked at it--and gave Barnes a once-over. "Bullshit; you could be younger than me."

\--

"Couuuuld. But I'm not." Bucky wrinkled his nose, leading Curtis around a throng of teens. "I was put in cryofreeze for years at a time. I was woken up sometimes. But not bullshit."

\--

That sounded crazy enough to be true. Curtis started poking through Barnes' contacts, but stopped when something occurred to him.

"Wasn't--Isn't Cap from the '40s too?"

 

\--

"Yeah." Bucky nodded, turning the corner and honestly, who knew Starbucks was so far away? Though, it did feel validating to know more than someone for once, considering he was normally way behind. "He was under the ice for seventy years. Crashed a plane in the arctic. I guess they dug him out a few years ago." He shrugged, lightly, trying to keep the conversation from dwelling too deep, just the basics. If for both Curtis and himself. 

\--

"Huh." He swiped his thumb over Stark's name--'Tony Stark' had a real familiar ring to it, but he couldn't place it just yet--and brought up the chat history. Then he asked, "is that why you two are together. Can't date people your own age?" His grin felt forced, but he managed it.

\--

"Sure, let's go with that." Bucky replied, and gave a silent sigh of relief that the Starbucks was just down the street they were on. He really didn't t want to go into his and Steve's relationship, not with the man inside Steve's body. Especially because of how complicated and convoluted and just plain complex the relationship was. "I'm mid 90's and late twenties all in one. It's like a package." 

\--

Alright, not a topic he wanted to get into. Curtis would drop it then. 

It felt a lot better to get indoors, even if the smell of coffee and food made his stomach twist into knots. He took one look at the pastries and sandwiches displayed next to the cashier and decided no, no he would not be getting in that line just yet. He tried to step away from Barnes, to the side of the door. "Go on, I'll. I haven't even started the text. Go get what you want."

\--

Bucky shrugged, letting him go be a little weirdo (well, big weirdo, but whatever) and stepped into the ridiculously long line. "Fine. Hurry up, though, 'cause I ain't waiting on you to order." He shoved the left hand into his pocket again, now that idle eyes might see him and stare, glossing over the menu with only half interest in his head. 

\--

Writing and sending the text took no time at all, but Curtis kept lingering by the wall, disappearing into his own head until he got a text back. The shit Stark sent him looked like gibberish, but after a moment of turning the words over, Curtis remembered oh, right, ordering at Starbucks required gibberish. 

Curtis had hated coffee as a kid, so he never really learned how to 'speak the language'. He always bought the black-cherry sodas they keep in the fridge near the pastry display. The only Starbucks he ever really found himself in was the one at Barnes and Nobles, and he'd use his parents money to buy the soda and then go fuck around with his friends around the dumpsters behind Walmart, throwing the glass bottles from their beers into the recycling bins and cheering when they shattered. He made sure to be back at Barnes and Nobles before his parents picked him up--they thought he stayed there the whole time, reading comics or books for teens or, fuck, he didn't know. 

Christ, his parents were alive, weren't they? Out somewhere, alive--

The phone buzzed in his hand, bringing him back down to earth. It was a text from an unlisted number, but it looked like another coffee order--

Fuck, he went to where Barnes was in the line and shoved the phone his way. "Here's his order," he said. He looked a little pale, but he was trying to wring himself back in. "And there--someone else texted you, maybe Tony told them we were out, I don't know."

\--

For how long Curtis lingered by the door, by the time he practically shoved the phone in Bucky's face- which, really not good for his reflexes, hand shooting out much faster than it should have- he was next in line. He just blinked down at the phone and then switched over to the unlisted number, rolling his eyes. "Of course she would. Right." 

He glanced up at the menu again, trying to match it up with the orders on the phone- fuck if he understood Starbucks and it's insane sizes and flavourings- then turned to Curtis, pursing his lips. "Things either got more or less fun, depending on your definition." He gave a shark-like, emotionless grin, then twisted as the waifish man in front of him moved out of his way, opening the cash register.

Bucky quickly ordered his coffee, Stark's, Nat's and enough muffins and pastries to feed a small army- and probably would have fed the Commandos, back in the day- and when the barista asked is that was it, Bucky twisted his head, raising an eyebrow at Curtis. "Order now, please."

\--

"I'm good," Curtis said, a little tight around the eyes because seriously? Twelve bagels? Did they have twelve bagels? Maybe they did, it just seemed like a lot to Curtis, and that wasn't even half of the food Barnes had asked for. He'd be surprised if they had anything left to sell after that. 

Christ, it was so much...And Barnes expected him to ask for more. When he knew--KNEW there was food back in that kitchen at high-rise where he lived. Fucking incredible.

\--

Bucky glanced at him again and knit his brow together, giving him an incredulous look. "Nah, fuck that." He turned back to the barista and ordered the most superfluous item he could think of- which happened to be a coconut mocha frappuccino, with extra espresso, thank you very much- and hurriedly paid the poor, frazzled girl behind the counter and made sure to tip extra nicely. Pro of having Stark's funds at his beck and call. 

"You're drinking the most sugary thing I can think of- which admittedly isn't that sugary, because I have no idea about these sorts of things." 

\--

Curtis was not used to people deciding things for him. Well, not true, he wasn't used toassholes deciding things for him. Or thinking they were allowed to decide things for him. Mostly because he didn't tolerate that shit and everyone back home knew that.

"No, I'm pretty sure you just ordered yourself an extra coffee."

\--

"Uh. No." Bucky said simply, blinking a bit as he stepped lightly over to where their food and drinks would be handed over, stubborn to a fault. Fuck this Curtis kid if he thought he was wasting money on coffee. Even if Stark paid for it. "You're drinking it. I paid for it. Don't waste." Even now, it was just an automatic response. Don't waste things that could be used later. Perks of growing up in the Depression, he supposed, and it was better those instincts lingered than. Well, others.

\--

Curtis took some of the bags of pastries--because there were fucking several--as his throat tightened around another response. This piece of shit. 'Don't waste', you asshole, you ordered it. Though he bit at the inside of his jaw, he didn't say anything. Maybe he could pass the drink off on Stark. He seemed like the kind of person who had several coffees a day. 

He found his voice just long enough to thank the barista who bagged their--Barnes'--purchases, then turned back towards the door, pointedly tilting his head away from coffee in Barnes' hands which he really didn't want to be smelling.

\--

Bucky grabbed the other bag of food and the drink holder of coffees, stringing the bag up onto his wrist as he followed Curtis, rolling his eyes skyward as he seemed to try to slink away. Fine, he could sulk if he wanted to. Bucky was just trying to be nice. Even if his people skills were still a little rusty.

He scowled when the plastic loops of the bag slid between plates in the wrist, trying to get it free without spilling or dropping anything, eventually just giving up and following behind Curtis, dooming himself to being uncomfortable for the rest of the walk. "You," He snarled down at the metal, "Are a piece of shit." 

\--

For a second, Curtis thought Barnes was talking to him, but he realized no, no, he was bad mouthing his frankly amazing prosthesis. He located the problem quickly and, shifting his bags to one hand, reached over to remove the offending bit of plastic. 

"Know a couple people back home who'd be happy to trade," he said flatly.

\--

"I'd be happy to." He responded without batting an eye, then slowly curled up his mouth into a bitter, fake smile. He did, though, incline his head in thanks at helping him, willing the plates to shift and constrict and tighten down like armor so that the plastic wouldn't get caught again. Honestly, he was starting to understand why he wasn't allowed to do things without handlers before, if their shitty prosthetic could just get. Caught. Better to use blunt force with it, after all. 

He kept walking, though, even as he said, "Been trying to figure out how to get it off for months. Stark could probably make a better one at this point, after he's seen all the funny little insides."

\--

If he stared, he wasn't sure anyone could blame him. The mechanics of the prosthesis were amazing and foreign and was he moving the plates with his mind? Christ. 

"So he's not the one who made it for you," Curtis said.

And then it clicked. Tony Stark, Stark Industries, weapons manufacturing and then clean-energy and hand-held electronics and computers and Ironman. 

Oh fuck, he had been such a huge Ironman fanboy as a kid. Playboy billionaire using his insane wealth to be a fucking super hero? He didn't know any kid his age who didn't fantasize about being the same. His expression was a mixture of shock and terror. He was going back to give that guy coffee. 

Fffffuuuuuck.

\--

Bucky watched the array of emotions just spread across Curtis' face and couldn't help the bubble of laughter that shot up, something that was slightly less bitter than normal and full of mirth. "Noooope." He wriggled his fingers the best he could with the bag on his arm, tightening the gaps on those, too, so they wouldn't make any noises in the middle of the street. "Soviet-made. Well. Originally. It got updated with the times, but. Nope. Stark wants to make me a new one, but we can't figure out how to get this one off." 

He sniffed, shooting Curtis another amused look. No idea what the expression was about, but it just tickled at him for some reason. Bucky was learning to just go with the flow of emotions.

\--

Curtis had to fight the urge to glare and instead shook his head and let some of his embarrassment show. "I just remembered who Stark was," he admitted. "Is." He scratches at his hairline before transferring one bag back to his free hand--although it didn't feel like he needed to, his hand didn't feel all that bothered by the plastic weighing tightly against the joint where his fingers met his palm. 

"I think I liked it better when he was just some rich hotshot asshole."

\--

Bucky snorted, gaze lightening at any insult to Stark (and conversations away from his arm, dear lord), nodding sympathetically. "I knew his dad. It was a giant surprise to find out that his son had turned into... That." Not that he didn't like Stark. Quite the contrary. But he was a bit much to handle, even when he'd gotten the man pegged down. And for Curtis, who likely knew of Tony, but had never met him, it was probably a giant shock to his system. 

Though, it couldn't be more of a shock than waking up in his bed. Which. Right. He still didn't want to think about that, really.

"Just don't be gawking at him when we get back. That'll only stoke his massive ego." 

\--

Curtis' lips twisted. "I won't," and it was a promise to the both of them. "Though I probably should've remembered sooner. That--we were in Avengers Tower, right?" 

Something changed just a second after he'd finished asking his question--a note to the commotion of the busy streets striking higher. Someone was--it wasn't yelling, just very clearly speaking in distress. Curtis didn't know why he was able to pick that out, why he could hear that subtle of a change, but he could, and he turned until he found the source. 

Turned out it was a group of boys tucked close to the side of one of the buildings--he and Barnes had walked right past them, and he hadn't noticed there was a pair of girls with their backs against the wall, being caged in by those boys. 

Curtis stalked over and was damn glad Captain America had more than enough height to loom over most of the teens. 

"Ladies," he said, "these boys bothering you?"

\--

Bucky twitched at the noise but didn't really react until Curtis stalked away, at which point the threat- which he'd dismissed because it was no immediate threat to either himself or Curtis, and therefore didn't matter- became real, became visceral in his mind.

He growled, honest to god growled when he stalked after him, and let portions of his mind fall to the back, let certain instincts take control as he watched Curtis. His mind was vying at him to just kick the kids' asses and get them gone, get Steve- Curtis- away, regardless of the threat level, but he stuck back for the moment.

He didn't like interacting when he didn't have to, still didn't entirely trust himself not to overreact. 

\--

One of the kids tried to feed him a line that Curtis only half-heard--had Barnes seriously just growled, what the fuck--and he quickly waved off. "Beat it," he told them, thumb jerking to the side. The name 'Captain America' was hissed between the group and one by one, they back pedaled down the street. One of the shits had the gall to shout to the girls "call me," before getting lost in the crowd. 

"Thanks," said one of the girls, though both of them looked wholly embarrassed and uneasy. "But they're just some jerks from school." She took her friend by the shoulder and started turning her away. "We're fine."

"Are you seriously Captain America?" her friend asked, not allowing herself to be turned just yet.

Curtis shrugged. "Might be." 

He almost told them to take some pastries before she ran off--they only had over a dozen--but he remembered these were strangers and offering food to strangers was fucking weird. He stepped away and turned around before he couldn't fight the urge to feed and protect any longer, leaving the girls to look to themselves. 

There was the sound of a camera shutter--pre-recorded--and a muffled "oh my god" and it seriously took him far too long to realize one of the girls had just snapped a picture of him with her phone. He. He didn't know how he felt about that...

\--

Bucky made a low sound in the back of his throat when the camera went off, and opted to grab at Curtis' wrist with his hand again, spitting out stiffly, "Time to go," and leading him down the street, the bag of pastries still string on his wrist bouncing into Curtis' arm.

He turned the corner, strides quick and purposeful, and It was only when they were nearly back at the Tower that he relaxed enough to moan, "Why ya gotta get in the middle like that?" Oh, of course he knew that Ste- Curtis could deal with silly school children, hands tied behind his super back, but one of the strongest instincts humming in Bucky's bones, at all times, was the need to protect and keep Steve safe. And sure, Steve wasn't exactly at home at the moment, but it was his body and evidently, Curtis was headstrong enough to break up street fights.

And he was similar enough that Bucky could forget, if only for a moment.

\--  
Curtis couldn't help but raise an eyebrow--the difference between Barnes when he took his wrist and Barnes when he was complaining about him 'getting in the middle' was like night and day.

"Sorry," he said, "didn't realize it'd get to you." And he was sorry, since it didn't seem like the switch was something Barnes could control. 'Didn't know how to be human' was how he put it? Not something he'd want to dredge up for anybody, let alone someone who was Curtis'...confidant? What the hell was his relationship with Barnes at this point? Maybe there wasn't a word for it, considering how fucking weird their situation was. "I just couldn't tell if one of those punks was trying to cop a feel or not."

\--

Bucky wanted to whine, but that wouldn't exactly be normal, so he just stayed silent, stiffening a bit. When Curtis talked like that, it was fucking with his head, because that was Steve. Okay, maybe minus some of the words, but still. "No need to apologize. It was. Right." He muttered haltingly, belatedly dropping the man's wrist and pulling the arm in tight to his body. 

Not like he had any right to say what was good or bad. Besides, Steve would have done the same thing normally, and usually, Bucky would have helped. But this whole Curtis business was stringing Bucky for a loop that was /not/ good for his normal schedules. Step whatever in Getting Better; routine. And forgive him if someone he knew waking up up a complete stranger was getting to him. More and more as as the day went by.

"Jus'... Stay close. No more... stuff until after breakfast." 

\--

"Okay," Curtis said, tone gentle. He could see the whole thing really had fucked with him. He could sympathize, certainly didn't want to add to his troubles. He'd keep close the rest of the way to the tower and keep his nose out of other people's business.

 

\--

Good. At least he didn't argue as much as Steve. Bucky gave another short nod without stopping, turning the last corner and staying silent until they got to the doors of the tower, glad for automatic doors when his hands were so full. He walked across the lobby with single minded determination, and people seemed to understand to just step out of his way rather than argue, something in his steps relaying that he'd just bowl them over. He quickly pushed the elevator door and was thankful that it was already on the lobby, opening up immediately for him to stroll in, thinking for a moment and then poking at Starks floor.

\--

There was a strange sense of relief that came over Curtis as the doors shut and the elevator started to move. It was too smooth to be like the train, but it was still small and mechanical and not the outdoors and he let out a sigh and relaxed his shoulders entirely voluntarily. 

Fuck though he was hungry. He looked down, considered the food in the bags and thought...yeah. Yeah, he'd try one. He could do that. 

Not that he deserved to. 

The thought made his mouth dry and his stomach turned to stone. No, he really didn't. He didn't deserve any of this. Of all the people on the train to get a second go at the twenty-first century, Curtis was the last of the bunch who deserved it. The luxuries were endless--he'd fucking walked down the street like he hadn't a care in the fucking world, like he wasn't a person-eating fuckhead who had people back home starving who hadn't even seen a glimpse of the outside world in seventeen years. Who'd be eating a protein block in six hours, and only a protein block if someone else wasn't willing to go hungry. 

He couldn't share any of this with them. He looked at the food again and saw waste. He was a waste. And he thought he could just gorge himself what the fuck was wrong with him? 

Breath short, Curtis started shutting down again, wanting to hide from the guilt he had no actions to combat. 

\--

Bucky was oh-so content to just let things be quiet in the elevator. He didn't even notice Curtis for a while, looking up at the slowly rising numbers like last time, standing a little too stiffly for his own good. But he didn't get to where he was in life- that is, staying alive- without being highly perceptive, and so when he flicked his gaze over to Curtis, he immediately cataloged the shortness of breath, the wide-eyed look, and sucker in a breath of his own, blinking rapidly. 

"Curtis." He said, and the man's own blankness, his own shutdown was really fucking with him, sparking cogs in Bucky's head that had ceased working months ago. Christ almighty. It didn't help that they were still in a tiny metal box. "Curtis. Out of your head." 

\--

He came back with a swallow, a sharp breath in through his nose. The guilt was still there, waiting for him, and he felt jittery suddenly, at the idea that he wasn't allowed to run from it, but he couldn't fix it either. That there was no way he could atone, no way he could do anything. 

He needed Gilliam. He wanted Gilliam so badly, it'd been so long since he felt this helpless and so long since he couldn't find solace by sitting by the man's bedside or just. Just nearby. But Gilliam wasn't even on the train yet, no one was. And Curtis was stuck here for fuck knows how long. 

He squeezed his eyes closed, ducked his head, drew in another breath as he forced his face to relax. He bounced a little on the balls of his feet, tried to--god, push the feeling down, though he really did deserve it. He did, he was such a piece of shit. 

The dig of the elevator opening made him blink his eyes open in surprise.

Elevator being open meant that they could move, that he could get this food out where it belonged and away from him. His reaction times were a little shot from still being so far in his own head, but he still moved to leave half a second before Barnes addressed him. He rocked back on his heel, forced a shrug. "Fine," he lied. He tried to leave the elevator, to find where he could deposit the food so afterward he could just go.

\--

Right. He was fine. The little shithead. Like Bucky couldn't tell if someone was just pushing down their panic to the back of his head. "Riiight." He replied, raising his eyebrows. "And I'm fuckin' Billie Holiday." 

Still. He left the elevator quick as could be, and started down the short hallway, heating the bag up on his wrist again. They came to what seemed to be a communal floor, judging by how spacious and large everything was, with a joined kitchen and living room. 

"That took forever." Stark muttered from the large kitchen island, slumped over himself as though he'd been dozing a few moments ago.

"Sorry your in patience knows no bounds, sweetheart. " Bucky snorted, dropping dropping the bag and coffees on the table with a small grimace. As soon as as his wrist was free of of the bag, he let the plates there loosen up and shrunk back somewhat, not so airtight any longer.

\--

Curtis put his bangs on the counter and then asked Barnes, "what floor is your apartment on?" He looked about ready to bolt. Because he was. 

Their bedroom probably had a closet. Bedrooms had closets. He was going to be a fucking child and he was going to hide in that closet until he could stand to be again. 

\--

"No no, you're not running, Delilah." Tony said, already seeming up and at it again, rummaging around in the bags with an excited fervor. He grabbed his coffee and sipped at it, nodding in satisfaction, then began to look for, evidently, the most perfect bagel. 

"You," he continued, pointing with a bagel in his hand, "Are staying here. Converse with the man who paid for your breakfast." He went through the other bag, grabbing a cheese danish and thrusting it at Curtis. 

Bucky looked between them and sighed, slipping onto one of the stools with fluid movement. "Just stay. It's better than hearing him complain."

\--

"I'm not hungry," Curtis said. He did not take a stool. He did not move from where he was several steps back from the counter. He bit the inside of his cheek and waited for either fight or flight.

\--

Bucky regarded him silently, not even blinking. Tony tried to interject, but Bucky shushed him with a finger jabbed to the air. "Fine. Don't eat. But you're going to have to sometime." He wasn't an idiot. He noticed the sudden nausea when he offered coffee earlier, noticed his hesitation with everything, really. "There's plenty of bagels. Room's on the 43rd. We're on the 40th." He shoved half half a lastly into his mouth, mentally disregarding social etiquette as he said, muffled, "schould schtay though."

\--

Curtis barely waited past hearing the floor numbers before he started moving. He threw out a half-hearted "thanks" as he turned, and was surprised by how fast he got back to the elevator, but he didn't question it. Just located the number and jabbed at it with his thumb.

He held his breath until the elevator closed again.


	2. Train I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the opposite side of the spectrum, Steve wakes up on a rickety train serving as the last hope for humanity. Good luck to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the formatting- This was originally an RP so it was already difficult to transcribe, plus AO3 doesn't support Google docs, resulting in all of my italics to be lost... I felt it was more important to get the actual words out here instead of just taking forever to put in every single italic. I tried to edit some of it as best as I could to get it to stream together a little easier, but. Well, I guess I just don't know. *shrug* Enjoy.
> 
> Bluandorange writes all Snowpiercer characters, and I, Ravenously, write all MCU characters. 
> 
> Again, feel free to message me, or the other coauthor, Bluandorange, on tumblr [Buckycurtis](http://buckycurtis.tumblr.com) and [Bluandorange](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com).

Everything was moving.

Everything was moving and was disgustingly sweat-clogged and noisy and dark (and he could tell this without even opening his eyes) and the only thing he could think of was that he must be having a nightmare. Because he did not know who's snoring that was or whose snuffles those were.

It was like a twisted version of his mornings waking up with the Commandos, Dugan snoring on his right, Bucky pressing into his neck on his left, the others scattered around because sometimes, sometimes they just slept where they collapsed.

But it's not. Because. Right. What should be his present crashed down and it was only a momentary thrum of panic that made him jerk because remembering that seventy years had passed, no matter how better he was, no matter what he had gained (no matter how happy he was now) was always a shock to his system.

But that doesn't matter. Not when. Well, he's conscious, at least, and that means he isn't where he fell asleep at. Because... No Bucky. As far as he can tell. Steve slit open his eyes and frowned, because even with his supersoldier abilities, it still took a bit too long for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, so permeable around them. 

He sat up and realized that his back was killing him, that his hands were callused in ways that they had long ago stopped being, that his clothes were shabby and gross. That the mattress beneath him was ridiculously thin and nasty from lack of soap, evidently. He ran a hand down his face as he leaned forward and had to stop, fingering at the cropping of facial hair there because Steve Rogers did not have a beard when he went to sleep. 

"What the fuck..." He mumbled to himself, careful not to jostle anything else as he climbed out from the cot, standing up on the freezing (and oh god, he didn't want to go there) and moving floor, looking around. None of this was familiar. He didn't fucking understand and why were they moving. 

"Curtis," a woman said, sitting cross-legged on a cot immediately behind him. "Curtis, tell this egghead I'm right."

"Don't listen to her, don't bother him," said the man directly above her, bunk dangerously close to the ceiling of the train-car. "Didn' mean to wake you," he said, appearing to try to look apologetic, but it wasn't very convincing-- He truly didn’t seem to want Steve to be involved for whatever reason.

"He thinks the Iraqi war wazzabout 9/11 but he's wrong," the woman said. By now others were starting to wake and someone shot a harsh 'shh' in her direction. "It was about oil, everyone knows that." 

"Oy," Edgar snapped, his bunk just about level with Steve's hip. "Everyone's tryin' t'sleep! Fuckin' hell, no one fuckin' cares, goddamn oldworld wars, fuck." And he turned over to lay face down in his ratty pillow. 

Steve froze and turned around, glancing between the three people with wide eyes before their words even hit and since when was he Curtis? His face twitched and he keyed into each of the people, running a hand down his newly found facial hair again, swallowing.

And. Honestly. What. 

"Um..." Okay. Honestly? Time to compartmentalize here. It's quick and easy and if he treats it like any other mission, it's simple to just push down his panic and deal with it. And Bucky thought he was growing soft.

Truthfully, he wished that everyone would just listen to the Cockney kid who reminds him perilously of Falsworth and leave him the hell alone, but, whatever. Dealing with it. But of course they were asking about wars he knew little of himself. Of course, he'd done reading, but politics were so bogged up and convoluted these days that he never was certain. 

"Um. If I remember... Yeah, oil. But the motivation to go there was 9/11." He couldn't help the bitter smile that crossed his face, turning to face the woman fully. "Leaders like a cause to rally behind." He'd figure this out in time, of course, but for now... Just roll with the punches and learn, inch by fucking inch.

The woman snorted. "Yeah, it helps when they plan them themselves." 

"That's just another conspiracy theory, and you know it," said the man. 

"Right. Right. Like MLK's assassination wasn't planned by the government, too." 

"Maria," said another woman from down the way. "Enough, already, what does it matter?" 

Edgar raised an arm to point in the direction of the new speaker, obviously agreeing. 

"I'm just saying that if you're going to be teaching kids about the old world," and this was said very pointedly up to the man Maria had labeled 'egghead', "you should at least have your facts straight!" 

Edgar whined into his pillow.

It took Steve a minute to catch onto the terminology. ‘Old world.’ That…-

That's definitely a new one. Steve turned between all the new speakers with equally wide eyes, still just not getting it. And why was it so fucking cold? He'd rather not, thank you very much. With a shudder, he crossed back to his cot and grabbed a ratty blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders, then turned to... Maria... and really looked. 

Well, sure, maybe it was old world to people that were headed towards the 21st century, but then again... 9/11 wasn't that long ago. So what the fuck. "Um. How old is 'old world?'" He asked suddenly, and yeah, maybe that wasn't so subtle, but these people seemed to know him, and he wanted some answers. Even if he would look a little odd. He had a feeling he was supposed to know these things. Or. Who they thought he was was supposed to know these things. Which. Confusing.

There was a moment where the whole surrounding area went silent. Other sounds came--people talking down the train-car, the shifting of the hanging lights and the metallic clatter as things shifted with the weaving of the train. Everyone within hearing distance of Steve's voice, though, they went silent for a beat. 

"Curtis," Edgar said, sitting up, motioning with a finger and then, before Steve could comply, brought his eyes up to lock with Maria, with the egghead's, and his hand flattened and he gave a dismissive wave, saying, "go on, get back t'yer stupid fuckin' argument, go, yeah. Eyes to yerself." He looked back to Steve. Took his sleeve and pulled at him, tried to bring him closer. His voice dropped, "Curtis. Y'hit yer head, man?" 

"Right. Curtis. You think I'm someone named Curtis. " Steve mumbled, looking the kid up and down. Obviously he knew this Curtis guy rather well, considering the familiarity, and considering Steve still had no fucking clue what was going on, he needed at least someone to understand that he had no fucking clue where he was. 

"Sorry, kid. Dunno who Curtis is, but I'm not him." He raised a hand to scratch at his hair and frowned when he found it close cropped under a knit cap, much much shorter than he would ever allow it. Even after that time he got lice, he kept it longer than this. 

Edgar's eyes went wide. "Oy," he said, gave Steve a yank by his collar this time. "You wanna keep your voice down, sayin' shit like that--" As he spoke he slipped out from his bunk. His attention shifted back to Maria and he raised his voice, all forced cheer. "He's fine. He's fine, vivid dreams, y'know how he gets," and just like that he snapped back to Steve and started stepping backwards, dragging him as he said, "c'mon." Edgar dropped his hand from Steve's collar to take his wrist and tried leading him down the train car, swatting at the head of a younger girl what peaked out to watch them pass. She squeaked and ducked back in.

Steve was so shocked he just let the kid lead him, eventually realizing that was probably best, anyhow. He looked around as Edgar led him through the car, wrinkling his nose and still trying to figure out why it felt like they were moving, before it hit him. The dimensions were certainly right for it. "Are we on on a train?" He choked out, scrubbing his other hand through his hair again. Him and trains weren't exactly friends, not anymore.

Edgar swore and picked up the pace, barking at anyone who so much as looked their way, until they'd made it to the back of the Tail, the place where few people lingered because this was the home for the armless, and they were treated with such reverence, it sometimes made Edgar sick. 

"The fuck is wrong with you," he whispered, wheeling on Steve and stepping in close so their conversation stayed private. "'Are we on a train', are y'serious? Yes. Yes, we're on a train. We've been on this train, man, I don't know--"he touched at his temples and then motioned to Steve, "I don't know what you hit your head on, but get it together, man, you wanna blow this? This, when we're this close, now you're startin' t'crack? Curtis." He put both hands on his shoulders. "Buddy. We need ya. Don't do this to me, man."

Steve stared at the kid for for a moment before awkwardly pushing his hands away from his shoulders. He noticed they were narrower than he'd gotten used to, but he'd be lying if he was ever completely comfortable and familiar with his body. "I'm not Curtis. My name is Steve." 

He chose to ignore everything else, well verbally, deciding to turn that over later in the privacy of his mind. "I don't know what any of this is." He waved a hand to indicate, well, everything, scowling. 

Edgar stared at him for a moment then threw his hands up in the air. "Right. Okay. Steeeeeve. Y'mind tellin' me then where Curtis went to? Because he's kinda an important guy around here and we sorta need him, considerin' we're tryin' to fight a fuckin' revolution." His voice had gotten louder and louder until he was shouting. He shifted on the balls of his feet, fidgeting like an antsy child. He shook his head. "Don't do this to me man."

"Edgar?" The voice came from behind the curtain. Grey stood to part it, revealing a portion of Gilliam's room. Edgar dragged his hand down his face, not sure if he actually wanted to bring the old geezer into this, or if he needed him to get Curtis back on track.

"I don't know who Curtis is... or anything about your... revolution. " Steve murmured. The kid was already getting on his nerves. He stood almost to attention when the new voice cut through their conversation, peering behind the curtain. Just his luck that he'd be brought into another war, even if he had no idea where the fuck he was or who he was supposed to be. "Uhum. Steve Rogers, kid. Sorry to burst your bubble. "

And clearly, if facial expressions were anything to go by, that was the breaking point. Edgar turned and threw open the other side of the curtain. "Gilliam, he's cracked. He's fucking cracked."

Gilliam was sitting upright in his bed. He reached for his glasses with his good hand, opened them by bracing them against his chest, and slipped them on. He squinted at Steve. "Curtis? What is it?" 

"Oh, no no no, he wantsta be called Steve now." Edgar said. He came over to kneel at the foot of Gilliam's bed, voice mocking, but tense. "He wants t'know, Gilliam, are we on a train?"

Gilliam looked so very concerned.

Steve was having a hard time not groaning. It would just just be needlessly dramatic. "Well, I got that we're on a train now." he muttered, and and didn't really care that he sounded childish. 

He looked over at the older man and tried not to stare because sure, he was used to seeing amputees and other victims of war, but this old man had fixed himself with what looked like a fucking cane, what the ever loving shit. He averted his gaze from that, looking at the kid again. If he weren't so annoying, he'd be endearing. 

"Come in," Gilliam said, motioning with his remaining fingers. The worry only deepened--he could tell the man was acting off, was holding himself and speaking in ways he usually didn't. He'd looked at Gilliam as if seeing his sacrifice for the first time. It was troublesome.

"I don't know what it is," Edgar said. "I don't know what's with him--he's been like this since Maria woke us up with her damn arguin'."

"Then we should let him speak for himself," Gilliam said.

"Kid's got it spot-on." Steve said, inclining his head slightly as he spoke to Gilliam, trying to figure the man out. "Went to bed in my bed, in my apartment, and woke up on this- this train." And jesus, but being on trains just make him feel transparent, regardless of how redundant it is. 

Gilliam's eyebrows raised as Edgar's lowered. 

"Your apartment," Edgar echoes. 

"Out there?" Gilliam asked. "In the cold?"

"New York ain’t that cold this time of year." Steve rubbed at the back of his neck at their scrutiny, frowning. It was June, for christ’s sake. Nearly hot. He glanced around again, raising an eyebrow- This was a mysterious train, with dirty inhabitants and incredulous manner to all that happened outside of it. "Where does this train stop off at, anyways? Seems pretty... disgusting... for public transport."

Edgar opened his mouth slow and deliberately but didn't say anything, just gaped.

Gilliam let out a breathy laugh. 

"New York," Gilliam repeated, clearly amused. "New York froze over seventeen years ago. And the rest of the world along with it." Even though he clearly did not believe Steve, he didn't seem cruel in his humor, just. Amused that someone would come to him that didn't know. "There's no getting off this train," Gilliam continued, gently. "For any of us." He started sitting back against his wall and, once comfortable, shot a pointed look to the Wilford logo a foot or so from his bed. "Like it or not, being here...is the only way we've survived."

Okay. So maybe he, Steve Rogers, had been frozen seventeen years previous, but he was pretty damn sure the whole world hadn't frozen along with him back in '44. In fact, considering his lapse in pop culture, he was positive. This was just. It made absolutely no sense.

Were he not in mission mode, figure it out get what needs to be done, Steve would be panicking. As it was, he had a brilliant cover face, a brilliant control of his facial muscles (even though, somehow, his face seemed more likely to draw down into a frown, more than usual) and he kept a straight face, even as he said, "You're shitting me, right? Is this some kind of joke? Some weird 'supervillain' trying to screw around with ol' Captain America's head? 'Cause it's working." 

He flicked his eyes between the old man and the younger, then assessed the taller, lanky man who had yet to say anything, sizing all of them up. This had to be some ploy. And Jesus, it was freezing in ways he didn't want to think about. Everything about this was ridiculous. 

Edgar shot to his feet, getting into Steve's space with the air of someone who wanted desperately to throw a punch. "You think this is a fuckin joke? Look around man, you think we'd be living like this if we had a choice? No, we'd all be livin' in apartments--"

"Edgar," Gilliam said, gently, always gently. 

"--in balmy 70 degrees drinkin' frozen martinis an' eatin' fuckin' icecream for laughs--"

"Edgar," and this time Gilliam shifted to the side of his bed and caught the young man's wrist in his cane hook right-hand. Edgar shot a quick look at him over his shoulder, then came right back to Steve, lips scrunched, jaw working. He pointed a finger in Steve's face. 

"The fuck is wrong with you, man?" 

"I think," Gilliam said, giving Edgar's wrist another tug, "I can handle our friend from here. You know Curtis' morning routine better than anyone; things still need to be done." 

Steve just watched as the two bantered back and forth, backing up a bit to let them have free reign- the younger kid, Edgar, evidently- obviously liked to utilize any space he had. He couldn't help but look around again, staring at the state of disrepair of the... The train, evidently, flicking his gaze around. He let himself relax just fractionally- whoever Edgar and the old man were, they were obviously supposed to be this man's allies, if not friends- sniffing his nose. "You live here?"

"No, mate," Edgar said. He was cocking one hip out, exasperation in every line of his wiry body. "We don't." 

Gilliam gave his hand a squeeze, having pulled Edgar close enough to reach him with his left, his remaining hand. "There's troops to tend to," he told the boy. "I've got this, you go on." 

Edgar huffed, yanked his hand away and regarded Steve one last time. He stepped back into his personal space and jabbed a finger in his face. "Yer fucking insane. And you're messin' everything up." And then he turned and stormed out of the little room, shoving the flap back dramatically. 

\--

 

Grey watched him go, then turned back to Gilliam for instruction. Gilliam waved him off, eyes closing, posture starting to relax. "Don't hold it against him," he said to Steve. "Curtis is very important to him. To all of us. He's our leader."

Right. He was in the body of some revolutionary group's leader. That was just fucking splendid. This couldn't be some hallucination then. As artistic as he was, even he couldn't concoct this vivid of a trip. Which meant that he was here. On a train. A train that never stopped. Steve held back a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"So, count with me here. One, we're on a train. Two, I'm... I look like your Curtis fellow." He patted at his face and it felt like his own, if a little gaunter and more scruffy than he was used to, but the general state of disrepair was in everything here. "Three, according to- to that kid, I'm interrupting some... Grand revolution." His face twitched, exasperation clear where it bled through the cracks of his facade. He was fucking annoyed rather than freaked at this point.

"You are," Gilliam agreed. "Right on all accounts. We have been," and he shifted to reach something at the table--a metal pill-shaped container about the size of an explosive round, "receiving information from a sympathizer at the front." He offered it to Steve. Should he take it, the red ribbon inside would be labeled 'gates'. "Our lives, here, in the Tail...are not ideal. Better than they were, but...its hard. We have so very little control."

Steve grabbed the container, opening it up to unroll the paper inside. He noticed, dimly, that his hands were filthy, so much dirt and grime under his nails that he doubted it would ever fully come clean. He glanced at the paper, then up at Gilliam, blinking. "'Gates.' That's real kind of your sympathizer. You even know the guy?"

He assessed Gilliam again, then back at the small pill, thinking it through as he clicked his jaw. "Okay. So the front controls the trail. Right? Apologies if I’m a little slow.” He should have just kept his mouth shut, but he was more pissed at this point than scared or freaked. It was hard not to let a little sarcasm leak out.

"I can understand the confusion," Gilliam said with a hint of wry humor in his old eyes and the curl of his lips. "The Tail," he motioned with his remaining hand, forward, towards the way Steve had come, "is comprised of passengers who boarded Wilford's locomotive for free. We're freeloaders. We have no rights, not to food or water or clothing. Not to soap or medicine. What we have had to be begged and bartered for. I suppose its what most in the front would consider 'trash'.

"The Front is economy and first-class. Now, I've never been personally, but I hear its quite nice. They may even have heating, heh." 

"Right. And you can't get off for some reason, and therefore have to live here. So you're trying to rise up." Steve felt his lip twitch upwards despite himself, scratching at his scruffy cheeks. He was most definitely not used to the facial hair, Before, before, he hadn't been able to. And Captain America had to keep up a proper, calming face to the public, after all. So he'd never had it. "Very Bolshevik revolution. Only not Russia. And on a train."

Okay. So he could at least understand the basics. Violent revolution and all that. Yup, he understood. And it didn't escape his mind that this man hadn't answered his question about their informant, their sympathizer. He may be just going with everything for the moment, but he did not trust this man. 

"The outside world is no longer habitable," Gilliam said. "Even if we managed to open the doors, we would only be killing ourselves. And we don't want to die. We want to live."

"Yeah, I can see you're doing a lot of living back here." Steve replied, raising an eyebrow at the information. "So-wait. That... That one lady was talking about Iraq and 9/11 like it was... A really long time ago. What- What year is it?"

"2031," Gilliam said. "And I'm glad that you agree, our lives could use improvement. You and Curtis are both equally disgusted with our living arrangements." 

"This has got to stop... Least it's not seventy years this time..." Steve muttered to himself, rolling his eyes skyward. Honestly, he was going to start to freak out about sleep if he was just going to continuously wake up in the future. Still. He had to stop himself from curling his lip, because this man was transparent as hell. "And let me guess. You want me to take the mantle of your Curtis."

"Would you?" Gilliam asked. "It doesn't seem like a position you'd be willing to take, and he does more than lead us, you know. He's made himself into something of the community's back-bone. There will likely be panic, people find out you're here, instead of him." The old man rested his back against the train wall and shrugged. "It may be he'll return tomorrow. It'll take far longer than that for you to take his place."

"Right. But if people are gonna panic, might as well do the smile and wave gimmick. I don't want to cause you and your people any trouble." Steve sighed, reaching fingers up to scratch at his scalp again. He really didn't understand why this Curtis guy would crop it so close when it was freezing all the time. He eyed Gilliam seriously for a moment, aging him up. 

And as much as he'd rather be Steve here, it would probably help if someone knew of him. And like hell anybody knew Steve. "But. Okay. So you were around before all... This..." He waved a hand at the train, turning back. "So I mean, you gotta remember stuff from before. Captain America ringing any bells?

Gilliam slowly raised one eyebrow. "I remember him being quite the figure, yes."

"Yes." Steve said, huffing out a breath. "I'm Steve Rogers. Captain America. And now I'm in some random guy named Curtis." He paused, blinking.

"And what year was it," Gilliam asked, "when you went to bed last night?"

Steve swallowed, taking a deep breath. "Well. 2014."

"Ahh," said Gilliam, amusement back in his eyes. "Right before it happened."

"Yea- Wait, what?" Steve blinked, frowning and knitting his brow together. "Like, right before? Christ, pal, I'll be honest. I'm at a complete loss of... Well, everything. It's all above my pay grade." He rubbed his hands together, hunching in his shoulders slightly as he thought about that. 

"Above the pay grade of a superhero," Gilliam said. He huffed out a laugh.

"If you hadn't noticed," Steve said, looking down at his decidedly scrappier body, not anything with the serum coursing through his bones, making him big, "I'm not a super hero. Not without- I'm just Steve."

Gilliam smiled a little to himself, eyes dropping down and away, and nodded. 

"Well, you still have two good arms. Plenty of work around here you could use them for. Are you willing to help, Steve?" 

Steve's eyes flicked to Gilliam's missing limb at his words, and his expression shut down immediately, jaw setting and eyes going steely. It didn't matter what world he had been thrust in, however far in the future, if people were going through injustices, he would help. If only because it was all he was good for, these days. "I'll help while I'm here. I'm not doing anything rash, though, until I get the full story." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "Arms aren't everything."

Gilliam nodded, as if he hadn't started poking holes at his logic. "Then might I suggest we keep your 'real' name and occupation between us? For the sake of the other passengers."

"Agreed. I'd rather not start a panic. Will the kid-" He flapped a hand to the direction Edgar left- " Keep his mouth shut? Seemed a noisy fella."

"Edgar? Oh, he won't say anything. Grey?" Gilliam leaned around to find the boy on the other side of Steve. "Go get Edgar, will you?" His eyes returned to Steve as the young man set about his given task. "He'll be a better guide for you than I will," he explained, smiling.

"Right." Steve was inclined to agree. As annoying and rambunctious- like a young Stark, really- as Edgar seemed to be, he seemed blunt and obvious. Whereas the old man was obviously trying sleight of hand and Steve had had enough of those sort of people. 

"I'd suggest," Gilliam continued. "You let him do the talking for you."

\--

 

As if summoned by the promise of his gift of gab, Edgar pushed his way back through the curtain. He immediately leveled Steve with a withering glare. 'Y'get him sorted yet?" he asked Gilliam, motioning to the older man. 

"He maintains his name is Steve," said Gilliam, "but he's agreed to keep that between the three of us. If he's here, he might as well learn how the Tail is run. Show him around, let him get his bearings. If anyone asks," he waved his hand dismissively. "Curtis is just having an off day."

Edgar gave a snort, then looked back to Steve. "Jus' go a lil' vacant around the eyes, they ask you anything you can't answer, arright? And try not to make me look too bad? Don't be a fuckin' tourist about this." 

Steve looked between the two of them, chewing at one of his nails- and promptly stopping because disgusting hands, okay- and nodded, shrugging. "Tourist. I think I can manage." He gave a delightfully fake smile, letting his eyes wither in their sockets. 

He looked Edgar up and down once more, and the corner of his mouth twitched for some reason, a brow raising slowly. "I think you can manage to make yourself look bad, kid. Don't go blaming everything on me."

"Oh, we've got a comedian!" Edgar said, cocking his head. "Great. That's fantastic. Now, how about you shut up, and follow my lead, alright?"

Steve gave Edgar the blankest of looks he could manage, running his hands to pull the cap down on his head further. "Yeah, I'm hilarious." His voice was devoid of... Anything, really, and he just moved to follow Edgar, not giving Gilliam another look as he did.

"That's good," Edgar said. "Keep that up. Talk just like that--" He stopped just outside Gilliam's curtain and looked up and down the train car before looking back to Steve. "Jesus. Y'really don't know where the fuck you are? Where do I even fuckin' start with you..."

"Well, considering I'm from seventeen years ago, no." Steve replied, shooting up an eyebrow. He set his shoulders back, still looking both vaguely disgusted and intrigued by the filth around them, dancing his eyes around until landing back to Edgar. 

Edgar groaned and scratched his fingers through his hair, thinking hard for a moment before he gestured around. "Arright, this," he said, "is the Tail. 's five cars long," he motioned down the way, "ends in the distribution car. Past that's the quarantine and past that's the prison."

"You've got a prison on a train." Steve said blandly, peering in the general direction of Edgar's pointing, trying to mentally create a map for himself. It was simple enough, and he'd been doing it for years, but still. Making mental maps for trains was kind of. Odd. He scrubbed at his scalp again, grimacing, nodding slowly. 

"Nah, mate, we don't have a prison," Edgar made a grand gesture. "Wilford has a prison." He rolled his eyes, looking for all the world like Steve's very existence was grating on his patience. "C'mon," he said and started into the Tail proper, where people were starting to wake-up in earnest, though most chatted from their bunks rather than get up and move around the train. 

The third row of bunks they passed, an older woman asked "Curtis, are you cold?" Edgar waved her off and said, "He's fine, fergidd'm he's fine."

"I kind of assumed everyone was cold." Steve said quietly, just following behind Edgar with quick steps. He liked this Curtis' body. It was thinner than his, slightly narrower and all the more agile. Though he wasn't a slow man in his normal body by any means, a lot of his movements were based around standing his ground and reacting. This one, however, felt more like a reactor, and it was pleasant. Perhaps the only pleasant thing in this damned scenario.

He filed away any and all information that Edgar offhandedly gave him. He could tell it was more reliable than Gilliam's dances, just blunt and irritated and full of something youthful. Steve sniffed, pulling the cap down lower.

As the moved through the cars, Edgar cut down any conversations people tried to start, but either addressed them by name or supplied it to Steve once they'd passed. Eventually, the cots ended and they were in the distribution room, alone. 

Edgar stopped near the middle of the room and gestured for Steve to come in close. "Arright, eventually, that door," he pointed at the one at the end of the car, "is gonna open, and the guards are gonna call us all in for a head count. We'll stand in rows, y'll stick by me, that's normal, and once they're done, we'll file int'a line and get our protein block 'a the day." He gave Steve another one of those flat glares and added, with teeth, "try notta turn your nose up addit, I know yer probably useta something a little finer, back atcher apartment. Which is fucking crazy, by the way. You realize that, right? That you're crazy."

Steve nodded mutely, tilting his head slightly at the mention of a 'protein block.' That sounded awfully clinical. Was that all the food they got? Still. The kid was still going off about how crazy he was. "The only thing crazy here, is the circumstances. I'm pretty sure I'm sane. Unless this is some wild hallucination. Which," And because he was feeling slightly unhinged, and this Edgar kid rubbed him like Stark did, he held out crossed fingers, shaking them slightly, "Here's hoping.”

Edgar rolled his eyes. "Nah, mate, the only thing crazy is you. Sane people don't believe they just woke up! In the wrong body! That doesn't bloody happen. It's not possible."

"I know it's not possible, and yet here we are." Steve replied. He seriously was going to throttle the kid and his mouth. "And considering I'm not your friend Curtis, don't know why that makes me crazy."

"Are you a bit thick," Edgar asked. "Listen to yourself--if anyone else--" he realized suddenly that his voice was raising, so he cut himself off, stepped in, and started again with his voice pitched low. "If anyone else you knew woke up one day convinced they were the fuckin' Queen of England, you'd think they'd gone off the fucking deep end." He poked Steve in the chest. "That's you!"

And of course, not only was he Steve Rogers, but he was a famous person, to boot. Which made it all the more unbelievable. Right. Not that he was sure the kid knew who he was. The older man said they'd been on the train for seventeen years, and if Edgar was older than that, it was by a few years, if that. So. Probably not well-versed. Unless, of course, they had fucking Cap comics circulating the Tail. 

He really wished Edgar would stop touching him, though, that was a certainty. "I. Am. Not. Curtis." He hissed with a note of finality, taking a deep, steadying breath. "And the sooner you realize that I am who I say I am, the sooner we can figure this out. I can't convince you by any way."

"And that doesn't bother you?" Edgar asked, relentless. He could honestly argue for days--often did, if left out of check, and the only person who could put him back in check was currently convinced they were someone else entirely. "That you can't prove it. That it sounds, dare I say it, crazy."

"Of course it bothers me. But that's just not important right now." He glanced around, lingering on the other people, then snapping his gaze back to Edgar. "There's obviously a bigger picture here. And me trying to convince you is not part of that. It's just fact."

"Yeah," he said, daring another step closer. "Yeah, there is a bigger picture here. And that bigger picture needs you to be Curtis." Something in his eyes changed, expression turning towards 'pleading'. "C'mon, man, how the fuck are you gonna get better if you keep denying who you are? We need you."

Steve ran a hand down his face for what felt like the millionth time. The touch of facial hair against his hand was starting to feel normal, and he wasn’t entirely certain that was a good thing. He didn’t want to adjust to this. "Look. Edgar? I would if I could. But I'm not him. I don't even know who he is except your... Your leader." His expression softened as he looked into the kid's face. "I told Gilliam I'd help where I can. Okay? And I'll be... Curtis... For them." He gestured to the people milling around still, still staring at Edgar. "But I'm not him. And I need you to help me, son."

Edgar jerked away from Steve and looked at him like he'd spit in his face. "Don't call me that."

Steve blinked, knitting his brow together. Okay... He'd obviously hit on some nerve, on some wound turned raw and he was not going to examine that. "Sorry." He muttered, averting his gaze. He was terrible at fucking apologies. But Edgar was his one ticket to understanding this place. 

Edgar regarded him warily now. Honestly, he hadn't expected anything so...foreign or out-of-character to come from Steve's mouth and it'd practically knocked him off balance. "Never said I wouldn't help ya," he said finally, hands finding his hips. He looked away, muttering, "the fuck have I been doing? Trying to help. Fuckin nut." 

Steve realized, absently, that he was starving. It felt different than it normally did, a bit more demanding even, then his metabolism normally yelled at him about and he blinked. It took him a moment to place the feeling, because it was familiar, but he realized after a moment and placing a palm on his stomach that he was starving. Not the new, 21st century joking starving, but the 1930's ‘he and Bucky hadn't eaten for two days’ starving. 

He looked back to Edgar, nodding idly. "Good. Step one of helping is not yelling about what a nut I am in front of everyone. Unless you regularly do that. In which case. Continue, I guess." 

"And step two?" Edgar asked, lip curled somewhat in annoyance.

"Making sure I don't look like a nut in front of everybody." Steve replied, falling back on easy banter that still needed to be said.

Edgar rolled his eyes. "Step two's a fuckin' doozy, innit." 

Steve sighed, tilting his head. "Usually is, pal." He chuckled, giving a small, bitter smile. "Lucky for you, I've been acting since the 1940's."

Very slowly, Edgar shifted from annoyed to visibly threatening to strangle Steve with his hands. "Why the fuck would you joke about that kinda shit, are you trying to fuck with me, is that it, cuz you're tryin' my patience!"

Steve smiled to himself, huffing out a breath at Edgar's obvious distress. "Surprisingly, it hits closer to the truth than anything." He eyed the kid again, trying to peg his age and what Gilliam told him, and slowly tilted his head. He'd ask later, he supposed. "The point is," He said, gesturing around again, "This is just another example of my increasingly crazy life.”

Edgar's shoulders dropped dramatically. "What does that even mean."

"It means that my life is ridiculous." Steve responded, blinking. He rubbed at his stomach idly again, and then glanced at the kid. "Did you say something about food earlier?"

Edgar shrugged, couldn't really remember if he had. "'s not coming in 'til later. Get used to it. We only get one bar a day."

 

"Right. Rations, I can deal with rations." Jesus, Rogers, growing soft in your old age? He glanced around once more, then turned back to Edgar, as he'd been doing since they'd arrived. "Wha- How old are you, anyways, kid?" He knew it was trivial, in all honesty, but right now, keeping the questions to the peripheral and basic facts was soothing as he tried to sort through everything. 

"Twenny," Edgar said. He scratched at his scalp, right behind the ear. "'m not surprised yer hungry; you gave over half your bar to Janice yesterday, and a good chunk to Michael the day before that. Fuckin moron."

So not only rations, but specific rations in the form of that protein bar. Just. Jesus. Like he thought before. Cattle. "Yeah, your Curtis is undernourished, I can say that safely."

God, Edgar was twenty. Which meant he had been three when the old man's story started. Probably didn't even remember life before the train, and if this was it, then he felt truly sorry.

"Him--you," Edgar corrected himself, "and the rest of us. Seriously, mate, you keep speaking in third person, someone's gonna hear it. I don't give a flying fuck if you don' like it, you said you're a fuckin actor, get in character wouldya?"

"I wasn't going to in front of other people. Yes, yes fine. I am undernourished." Steve rolled his eyes at the dramatics, jaw ticking slightly in irritation. 

 

\--

 

Edgar sneered at him, but then looked to be at a loss. This wasn't exactly his typical morning, and while he was sure from the outside looking in, it might just seem like one of his and Curtis' normal arguments, it wasn't, and he--he didn't--

He didn't want to keep banging his head against the wall that was Curtis insisting he was Steve.

Edgar looked past him, tried to find some kind of distracting within the throng of the morning routine of the Tail. He found something near immediately. 

"Oy!" he called. "Oy, Steph, the fuck's my knife?" He stalked around Steve to stand at the edge where train car met train car and pointed at a boy about his age, maybe older. "I said, where the fuck's my knife you said you'd give it back t'me yesterday."

"Beth's got it," Stephen said. 

"Why's she got it?" Edgar asked. He started weaving his way around people and their bunks. Steve could follow if he felt like, for the moment, Edgar didn't fucking care.

\--

 

Well. Fuck. Steve had no idea where he was going, and Edgar was his only chance of figuring anything out, so he twisted and tried to follow after him, trying not to grow more and more exasperated at such childish behavior over a... Knife, really? He maneuvered through people, apologizing at those he bumped into- which he really, really tried not to, because everyone was absolutely filthy and he still wasn't sure on the strength of this body, besides- staying a few feet back as he tried to keep up.

Edgar made it to the other teens station and started chewing him out over passing around his stuff. A few people greeted Steve as he passed, and while most didn't smile, it was obviously from wariness, not dislike. Even if Steve had bumped them, none seemed to mind, though one woman took his arm to steady him, asked him if he was alright. 

It was when he stopped that another man a-ways down the car, past where Edgar was, called, "Curtis!" brightly, and began motioning for him to come over. He was portly and white and had a clipboard in his lap, his bunk taking up the left-side corner at the end of the car. He seemed to be much more of a morning person than any of his neighbors.

It took Steve perhaps a bit too long to respond, but he eventually realized that yes, the man was gesturing to him, and he gave Edgar's form one last glance before slipping over by the man, blinking. "Yeah?" He asked, going for as simple as possible. From what he could tell, this Curtis fella was probably not so energetically animated, if he was figuring out everyone's looks right. Of course, he could be wrong, but better safe than sorry.

The man smiled kindly at him. Above him, yellow pages covered in charcoal drawings were posted to the walls. Most were dramatic scenes of masses surging or worshiping or begging, their emphasis placed on reaching hands or men without hands all together. Men who looked very much like Gilliam.

"Good morning, Curtis," the man said, soft spoken and kind. "I was wondering, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, if you would pose for me today. There's something about you this morning. A life to your eyes. I know you're busy..."

Steve glanced around the drawings and the inner artist in him held even more appreciation for all of the sketches, mind quickly seeing the way this man would swoop lines across the paper and how he chose what to emphasize. Even if some- if not most- of the subjects on the paper were gruesome and disturbing in a multitude of ways. He got caught up for a bit, because if nothing else, art was familiar, before realizing that the man had spoken. 

And. Shit. He assumed the man meant posing for a drawing, and he just didn't know what he was supposed to do. Sit here and stay idle and accidentally lose Edgar (even though he was pretty sure the kid was supposed to stay by him, he obviously didn't care). He blinked at the man, then nodded slowly, deciding that staying by someone who wasn't spouting about revolutions was probably better than most. 

"Sure." And, wow, a life to his eyes. This Curtis man was really turning out to be more and more bleak, the further he thought about it.

The man's interest in Steve seemed to quadruple and a small smile pulled at his lips. "Then why don't we," he took a new page from the pile on his bed and clipped it to the board, covering what looked to be a sketch of Steve--Curtis?--in profile, "move to the distribution room, plenty of space there. The man shifted his weight onto a board on the edge of the catwalk erected to connect the higher bunks and began lowering himself down to the floor. His eyes twinkled as they moved over Steve's face. 

"I know its not like you," he said, "to dream of the old world but I think you did! And it was a good dream?" 

Well. The artist was all sorts of introspective and clever, wasn't he. And it was really putting a loop for whatever mode of confidence Steve had. He looked the man up and down for a bit before nodding, slowly, trying to keep his gaze as truthful as possible. 

"...Yeah. Surprisingly." That was simple enough, right? He really should have stayed near Edgar, damnit. Or, well, the kid shouldn't have run off to leave him at the mercy of this highly quick man.

"It's stayed with you," he said. 

"'scuse me," Edgar said, appearing at Steve's shoulder, "Hi, Curtis, didn't you have some shit to tell Gilliam or something, near the back? Sorry, Painter, busy man," and he patted Steve's shoulder.

"He said I could--" 

"Yeah, well, he's polite like that ain't he," he took Steve's arm and started pulling him past the man. "C'mon, I just remembered there's somethin--there's so much to do, man, 's hard to keep track of it all, c'mon."

"Apologies… Painter…." He called back to the artist, letting Edgar pull him for a bit before slapping his hand away, straightening up on his own and brushing down the lapels of his coat. As soon as they were out of earshot, Steve glanced around, then hissed, "That man knew something was up."

Edgar spun and hissed back, "I fuckin noticed! Christ, I leave you alone for two fucking seconds and you go chat up Painter."

"He called me over. I didn't want to just," He flapped a hand in the air, "Ignore him. To be fair, you're supposed to be staying by me." 

"I didn' know you were such a babe I had t'hold your hand the whole fuckin' day," Edgar snapped. "Fuck, you're so--" he made another strangling motion before looking away and making eye contact with someone just past Steve's shoulder. "Oy, this conversation look like it involves you? Keep your eyes in your fuckin' head, mate."

"Edgar," said a black woman sitting near the floor, "don't talk to Jose that way." Her voice held an obvious threat and she held Edgar's as if to emphasize she'd follow through on it. After a moment, her eyes flicked to Steve's and softened. "Mornin' Curtis."

"Sorry, Jose," Edgar grumbled, getting the words out as quick as he could, barely pointing it in Jose’'s direction. The reply was in Spanish, but it sounded more exasperated than anything.

Steve looked towards the woman on the floor and then at Edgar, slowly hiding back a grin that the kid listened to someone at least. He immediately liked the woman, and made a point to turn to her, offering a quick quirk of his brow and a, "Morning." He was intensely amused. Jesus, Edgar acted like Bucky would've had he been yelled at by old Ms. McMackin when they were teens themselves.

The woman's lips twitched up in a smirk. "Little early for him to be so wound up," she said with a slight nod Edgar's way, like he wasn't right there listening. He rolled his eyes and shifted on the balls of his feet and was just generally huffy, but he didn't argue with her. "But you seem to be in a better mood. Your sleep that good?"

Steve recalled that ratty cot that could hardly be called a bed- and he had slept in the weirdest of places before, so that was a fucking ramshackle cot- and shrugged noncommittally, huffing out a breath. "Decent as I could, ma'am." He was trying okay? It's not like he had been given a mission file labeling all of this Curtis guy's quirks and characteristics to emulate.

Edgar made a strangled noise just as the woman broke into a laugh. "Ma'am," she repeated, amused. 

"Way to go," Edgar hissed, pushing onto his tip-toes to say it right in Steve's ear.

"Curtis, honey, what're you buttering me up for?" 

"Nothing," Edgar supplied, though it obviously just piqued her interest all the higher. She looked between them, eyes narrowing. 

"What's going on?" she asked. 

"Ahhh, I just remembered, we're late for a meeting with Gilliam, sorry, Tanya," he pushed at Steve's shoulders, trying to get him to move down the car, but Tanya was out of her bunk and blocking their path with her girth before they could get any further. 

"I said," and she looked between them again, making it clear to both that she was very serious, "what's going on?"

Steve knew he was horrible at lying. But Edgar, oh Edgar was just atrocious. If he had just let things run their course, Tanya would've just assumed he- 'Curtis'- was unusually chipper that morning. What an idiot.

He looked between the two as they spoke, but assumed soon assumed as Tanya started blocking them, he really sized her up, stopping himself just in time from raising his eyebrows in sheer appreciation, because she was /dangerous/ and knew her shit. That much was obvious.

With a world-weary sigh, Steve rubbed at his scalp, really thinking through his words before settling with, "Just ignore him, Tanya. He's been insufferable all morning." He shot Edgar a look that was part act and part true annoyance, dragging the cap down to settle more comfortably at his ears. "More than usual."

Tanya shifted her weight, but her expression opened just a bit. She seemed to believe him to a point, but wasn't ready to let them go. "Well what's he on about?"

Edgar didn't know when to stop. "I'm not on about anything," he said, forcing a smile, "c'mon." 

If Steve looked around, he would notice more than a few eyes on him, primarily Painter's up on the scaffolding. He was drawing the scene fervently. 

Steve gave a careful shrug, ignoring Edgar point blank. Well. All good lies are wrapped in truths. "We going on about the old-world. Still in a huff obviously." He glanced to Tanya, scratching at the side of his face. "But he is right. I have things to do."

Understanding crossed into her expression, and whatever she assumed didn't seem to be good. She tried to cover it, but the solemn in her eyes stayed. "Sorry to keep you," she said, tilting her head to him as she stepped back to make room. "I'll see you later."

"Right, See ya, Tanya," Edgar said, urging Steve on with a press of his shoulder. Some of the edge had left his expression, though. He couldn't fault Steve for that cover--it'd been pretty brilliant. 

"Don't forget," she told Edgar, the stern parent back in her voice, "you promised Timmy you'd play ball. You ditched him yesterday, don't you do it again."

"I won't, I won't, I promise. Yeesh."

Steve gave a small wave as he moved with Edgar's prodding, still largely letting the kid guide him where he wanted, considering he had no idea where he was. 

"Nice cover," Edgar whispered to him once they were a good ways down the car. "Really, that wasn't half bad."

"Thanks. Don't over react next time." Steve replied, shooting Edgar a pointed look.

"Fuck you," Edgar mumbled. They were at the back again and he stopped right before Gilliam's curtain and rubbed at his eyes and then scratched his nails into his hair, dislodging dirt and dust and dandruff in the process. "We can't keep doing this--we can't fucking do this all day. You--we need a plan."

"Fine, fine. Sorry for staring at everything like it's the first time. It's because, it uh, is." Steve cleared his throat slightly, letting out an an annoyed huff. "I can deal with it."

"If you weren't so fuckin' obvious about it, it wouldn't matter," Edgar said. He pursed his lips, trying to think of other things to boss him about. "'s fine you're so. Fuckin' chipper. So long you don' look like a deer in the headlights if someone calls ya on it."

"Fine. Though you need to calm down about it. The others knew something was up because you were acting up."

"Well I'm sorry, its not like its easy being the only one who knows you've--" Shit he was getting too loud again. He drops his voice back to a whisper, "you've gone off the deep end."

Steve rolled his eyes again, giving Edgar an unimpressed look. "Well do better. Unless you want everyone knowing your leader has been compromised."


	3. Tower II

Tony watched Curtis practically flee to the elevator with interest, then gave Bucky a shit eating grin. "Hey, remember when you used to-"

"Shut up, Stark. Not exactly funny." He responded, shoving the rest of his pastry in his mouth before bundling bundling a few together in a napkin, grabbing his and Curtis' coffee and standing, giving a mock salute. "Do svidaniya." He called and swung out of the room, using using the excuse of not having anyone tailing him to start taking the stairs.

\--

Curtis' mind had narrowed to a knife point. He didn't see anything, hear anything, he just moved when he knew he could and within a minute of leaving, he'd found the closet and shoved himself into the corner, the tails of the shirts above him brushing over his head. There was still so much _wrong_ \--it smelled too clean and the carpet was plush and comfortable under his ass and it was _too quiet_ and _so fucking still_ \--but some of it was right. It was cramped and he could pretend what little light made it past the door was from one of the lamps, and no one was there to stop him from going away, so he did. He curled up tight and he went away. 

Soon the only thing he felt was his own fingers in his hair, and even if it being long wasn't _right_ , the pain felt good. Grounding. He hadn't needed the pain in his scalp as an anchor in years--had started keeping his hair short at Gilliam's request so he _couldn't_ rely on it--but he had nothing else now, and it was there, and he was pulling before he remembered to stop himself, and he was too gone to realize this wasn't his hair to pull out. Just felt the relief when some of it gave and then readjusted his grip.

_\--_

Bucky honestly took his time going back up to the floor. Curtis had practically fled, and if he knew anything, it was that he did _not_ want to get in the way of that. At all. Let the man, hopefully, calm down for a bit first. Better to be shaken out of an unthinking, robotic stasis than to be subdued while he was actively panicking. 

But he did need to confront him. Whatever state he was in, and so when he walked into the small living room, he padded directly to the counter to set down his food, taking a long, savory drink of the coffee he had ordered. It was simple, just a regular _coffee_ with some sugar and cream in it. No need to get all fancy like Stark did. Bucky scrubbed at his scalp for a second with metal fingers, trying to figure out how to go about this. 

Obviously, Curtis was hidden away somewhere here. It wasn't a matter of finding him- because he could do that, it's what he had been made to do- but rather a matter of what to do when he found Curtis. Because honestly, Bucky was _not_ the best person to deal with someone who looked as panicky as he did. He knew that look, knew he _wore_ that look at least once a week now. 

So. Maybe he shouldn't do anything. Bucky set the coffee down on the counter, then did a quick search pinpointing Curtis within a minute (the floor wasn't _that_ large, plus he had good ears). He stalked quietly over to the closet, and rather than making a big fuss- because he was _hiding_ , this much was obvious- he just slunk inside, closing the door behind him and sitting down beside him. Let him come to himself, eh? It's not like he hadn't found himself in a closet more than once in the past few months. 

When he realized what Curtis was _doing_ , he made a low whining noise in the back of his throat, some of his more... Newly caught responses dying in his throat as the urge to _protect_ , and _keep safe_ rose in his throat, and he all but lunged for the man, tearing his hands away from his scalp by the wrists. Bucky didn't say anything, though, just stared at him for a while, keeping his hands trapped. 

_\--_

Curtis made a startled noise, the jerk of his wrists taking a good chunk of hair out with it. His brain locked on the fact the person touching him was _not_ Edgar, so the response that welled out of him was wholly violent. He pushed at the man, spat, "the fuck you doing?" letting the hair fall from his hands to shove the man backwards, out of his space. "Don't touch me!" 

_\--_

_"Nnnng._ " Bucky let himself be pushed back for just a moment before the violence in his movements sparked _something_ in his brain, and he lunged at Curtis, pushing him back and pinning him into place, the metal arm whirring in warning from where is was holding down one of his arms. The urges to _protect_ and _save_ were blurring with the sudden threat that this man posed, and he stared down at Curtis wide-eyed, hardly seeing anything at all, working mostly on autopilot. "Do not maim yourself in that way." He hissed, and any other time, he would be horrified to hear how blank and empty his tone was, any smooth city drawl gone in an instant. 

_\--_

The actual _threat_ grounded him, got his brain back on track, got him thinking about what was going on. He'd broken the habit of swinging blindly years ago, and it was sobering to realize he was doing it again, that he'd started a fight he had to finish. _Violence and fear only breed more violence and fear._ He had to stop. He had to get back in control. 

Curtis had a hard time placing who this guy was exactly, until he clued in on the mechanisms working in his arm. Barnes? Didn't sound like Barnes. 

"Let me go," he said, almost gently, sounding more present. He'd come back from the edge. 

_\--_

Bucky stared at him, unmoving, for a few seconds, bordering on a minute, before he slowly let go of Curtis' wrists, not constricting him as much. Still, though, he moved so that he could poke at Curtis' head, twisting him by his jaw so he could look at how much hair he'd yanked out, jaw still clenched and movements so, so stiff. He was silent, though, except for the occasional whine in the back of his throat as he inspected him, breathing shallow and quick. 

_\--_

Slowly, Curtis realized what Barnes was checking him for. He looked down at his hands, at the blond hair still wrapped around his fingers. It...wasn't his. 

There was some blood on his scalp, mostly from that last yank. He could feel how hot it was, how it tingled and felt terrible over how much he enjoyed it, had missed it. 

"Sorry," he said.  
\-- 

Slowly, slowly Bucky slowly relaxed, loosening his grip on Curtis' jaw before dropping his hand completely, leaning away from his head with a huff of breath. He scanned him over once more- noticed how present he was- and deemed him safe. From himself, for now. He sat back on his haunches, mind still spinning slow and sluggish, just the deepest instincts running right now. Instincts of _protect, feed, save._ Two of three down for for the body of Steve Rogers. It didn't even matter that it _wasn’t_ him right now. 

"Stay." He commanded, then rose from his position, slipping from the closet and grabbing the bag of food off the counter, sliding back into the dark enclosed space. He liked closets closets and blankets for small areas. Hated elevators and hospitals and anything too cold. Bucky shoved the bag to Curtis, eyeing him up and down coolly, desperately. "Eat." 

_\--_

Curtis could hear him pick up the bag in what had to be the room over. That really was some super hearing...He tried to think about superficial things like that, to stay grounded, to be there when Barnes got back because, well. 

He had something new to feel guilty about, something he could _engage_ and _rectify_ so he wouldn't run. He could focus. 

And he could eat, if that meant making up for the damage he'd done to the body he was wearing. It didn't _actually_ make up for _shit_ , but it’s not like he could say no, now. He owed Barnes--and he supposed Captain America--enough to do what he was told. He nodded to the man and reached into the bag, taking out one of the plastic containers without really caring what was inside. Turned out to be a muffin, dark enough it may be chocolate. 

His mouth watered at the prospect of chocolate, and his immediate goals managed to outweigh his guilt over _existing_ long enough for him to get in a bite. 

The flavor was _intense_ , the texture was unfamiliar and as he chewed, it stuck to the roof of his mouth, his teeth, his gums. He made a noise--involuntary--and tried to muffle any more by pressing the heel of his hand to his lips. It was so _fucking_ good. He loved it and hated himself in equal measure. His body was urging him to just stuff the whole thing in his face, but Curtis forced himself to go slow. As much as his body wanted to eat, it still was under the control of his mind, and his mind wanted to purge what was too strong and too decadent for Curtis to deserve. 

_\--_

Bucky watched him the entire time he ate, sitting back on his haunches against the closet door, eyes shining in the darkness. Slowly, watching Curtis unwind and _enjoy_ the food, he relaxed fractionally, breathing easier and thoughts spinning faster rather than sluggish like blood beneath ice. He actually jerked slightly when Curtis made a noise, lips curling up like a fern before he could stop himself. 

He ignored the hair and the blood and the fact that Curtis had maimed himself- or, Steve- for some reason. Didn't know why. And he wouldn't push it out of him. 

It took several more minutes, but Bucky managed to relax eventually, sliding his legs in front of him and sitting on his ass, scrubbing the back of his hand over one of his eyes. 

He did notice the disgust in Curtis' expression every now and again, and was curious as to why he would direct something so hostile towards food. Bucky remembered the first few weeks after being taken from HYDRA and how he didn't _understand_ food, didn't tell anyone when he needed to eat because he didn't understand the warning signs. Had to be told to eat. Evidently, he would need to monitor Curtis for that. Especially now that he was in Captain America's demanding body. 

_\--_

Curtis made it about halfway through the muffin and had to stop. His stomach wasn't close to full, but his head was telling him it was good enough for now. Irrational thoughts about giving the rest to someone who needed it more reinforced the decision and he didn't examine his motivations far enough to realize there was no one he could pass it on to. 

He just. Held it in his lap and shifted his focus to Barnes. Who looked like he was doing better. Something in him--maybe the part that had learned to love community, to care about getting to know others and to share their lives--made him want to break the silence between them, though it wasn't wholly uncomfortable. 

There was something he wanted to admit, something he would have told Gilliam if he could. He didn't know, but he thought perhaps Barnes would understand. If he didn't, Curtis had survived worse. 

"I shouldn't be here," he said. "Obviously, but...it just shouldn't be me. There's four-hundred and seventy-nine people living in the Tail and...little over a hundred of them don't remember what this world looks like. Some...some never even got to live in it. Should be one'a them. They should get this," he held the muffin up a little, "not..." He shrugged. 'Someone like me' remained in his throat. 

_\--_

Bucky inclined his head when Curtis started to talk, flicking his eyes to the half-eaten muffin before actually cluing into his words, brow slowly lowering as he thought through the words. Words that, a little different obviously, he himself had said. He himself still _believes_ for the most part. Words he constantly thinks about unless he actively forces them down to the back of his mind like his programming and conditioning. 

He swallowed, wetting his lips before he spoke. "I'm not one to talk. But. I've had to do a lot of reading on this. And get lectured to. It's called survivor's guilt." His lip twitched, trying to keep his words into one linear line. They did that sometimes. Caught up and switched around. Anything that held emotions in it did that as his head swirled through them. Anytime it got to be too much, he'd had to start talking like it was mission briefing. Short and simple. But he couldn't right now. 

"It doesn't matter if someone _deserves_ it more. What needs to be focused on is what actually happened. You're here, not... Them. I'm here, not that I deserve it. But you have to enjoy what you have. And realize that there's no use in wishing it for other or wishing for another outcome." Okay, so a lot of that was parroted back from Wilson and Steve and even Stark that one time he went to his lab and didn't emerge for three days straight, intense of a talk it was. Lots of repetitions, but it was still… He _knew_ it was valid information, even if it was hard to believe it. 

_\--_

Curtis listened, and as he thought about the words, his throat started to close for entirely new reasons and he felt his hand starting to shake against his lips. He set the food aside and wiped his hands on his jeans, let his hands ball into fists at his knees as he sucked at his teeth and tried--Christ, he didn't know anymore. 

He shied away from the forgiveness implied in Barnes’ words and instead latched onto the words "survivor's guilt". He didn't know if he'd call himself a survivor. A hunter, a monster, a coward, sure. And yeah he felt guilty that he survived by taking the lives of others, but there were _other words for that._ He was a murderer and a cannibal and he didn't deserve to be forgiven, not when it didn't serve a purpose outside himself. 

The tears finally started to fall and he pressed the heel of his hand to his eye, placing pressure right where the stinging was. He wanted to argue, but he didn't have the words. The only thing he could give back to Barnes was the shaky wet breaths as he held back the sobs. 

_\--_

_"Nnn-"_ The sound dragged itself out of his throat as Curtis started to cry, and no, he was not equipped to deal with it. He wasn't used to being the one have to deal with... With this. Oh, sometimes Steve went into his head for a few seconds, had cried in front of him, but he'd never shown such an outwardly display of panic and tears. No one had. It was painful and strange to see it from Steve's body, but he wasn't even seeing the man as Steve anymore. _Couldn't._

He went back up on his haunches, because it was a position he could escape from in seconds. The tears were fucking with his head again and he was realizing just how much _not better_ he was still. Bucky thought he had been getting better but he was kidding himself. This was just. 

A whine again, and then he leaned forward, staring at him for another moment before moving moving to the other side of the wall, pressing his right shoulder into Curtis' and sitting next to him, trying to breathe evenly. He didn't trust himself with words, anymore, couldn't remember most at the moment, so he didn't say anything, just giving a soft hum. 

_\--_

Curtis edged away at first, could see the distress he was causing and used it as motivation to put a damper on the water works. He wiped his eyes, then his nose with the first knuckle of his forefinger, giving a sniff. "Sorry, sorry, 'm fine," he said. "'s just. It's a little much. But I. I'll stop." 

_\--_

Bucky was quiet again, but he shook his head slowly, turning to watch him again. Okay, so he was a little stiff and too still at the moment, but whatever. He was trying. "It's okay." He gave a deep breath to steady the breathing that had begun to accelerate again, drawing his knees up to his chest and draping his arms over them. He laid his chin over the arms, looking straight ahead, acting as... He didn't know. Bucky knew enough now that he didn't need to 'keep watch' like he had in the first couple of months, but this sure felt an awful lot like that. "It is fine." 

_\--_

Curtis rubbed his palms into his eyes until most of the damp had been brushed away. He didn't say anything else, but he didn't move away from Barnes, actually let himself enjoy the comfort of having a body near. He wasn't Gilliam or Grey or Edgar, but Curtis felt he could trust him, felt he owed him for taking away his boyfriend and triggering in him several bouts of regression. 

He kept himself on that line of thinking, that it could be his purpose while he was here. CW7 was entirely in Stark's hands--Curtis had done about all he could just by bringing it to his attention. Now it was just a wait, and he had a responsibility to Barnes not to fuck up too badly while he was wearing Captain America. And he guessed he also owed it to Captain America. Steve. 

That probably meant not letting his body waste away. Curtis looked at the muffin, lying on its side in the plastic box it'd come in, and after a steadying breath, he picked it up and finished it off in two large bites. It went down almost too fast to taste, but remnants clung to the back of his teeth and the roof of his mouth and he worked them loose with his tongue and had to taste it then. 

_\--_

Bucky blinked when Curtis started eating again, but his expression did turn pleased, even if it was more of a micro-expression than anything large. He nodded in approval, and though he didn't smile, his eyes did. "Good." He wouldn't ask if he didn't need to, but he understood immediately that it was a big move that he had continued to eat. That he hadn't just left it be. 

_\--_

Curtis brushed the crumbs from his lips and gave a little nod back. Then he let his head fall backward against the corner of the closet and. Kept sucking the chocolate from his teeth. He tried to remember it was Steve he was really tasting it, not him. 

_\--_

While Bucky was shifting to get more comfortable, he knocked over a stack of DVD's shoved into the closet and scowled, pushing them farther away from his body with the left hand, maneuvering all the _shit_ inside the closet so that he could lay down in his side, knees curled in, and just blink and watch Curtis calmly as the man sat. He wasn't going to just _sit_ here while the man sorted through his mind. But he wouldn't leave, either. Didn't know if Curtis _wanted_ to be alone at the moment. 

_\--_

Curtis watched Barnes move and couldn't stop himself from comparing him to Edgar--the air of worry, the attention, even the blatant disregard of how he might look as he made himself comfortable somewhere nearby. But Barnes was older than Edgar--older than Curtis?--and his concern stemmed from a different connection entirely. 

Curtis missed Edgar, though. He hoped the kid was alright. He hoped everyone was alright. He didn't know if, when he went back, if he'd just wake up like nothing happened or-- 

"Do you think," he said, voice pitched low, "that if I'm here, Steve's...on the train?"  
\-- 

"From the way you describe it," Bucky replied, swooping out the metal arm to lay his head on it, scowling a bit when the cold metal hit his flesh, "I hope not. But then again, I don't know where else he'd be." Oh god, but he hoped Steve wasn't on a fucking train. But if he wasn't on the train, then the only place he could be was _right in front of him_ speaking as Curtis. Between the two options, Bucky preferred the 'alive' option much better. 

_\--_

Curtis tried to work out how it would go, waking up on the rattling ark without any godly idea of how you got there. And what’s more, to be doing it in Curtis' body. 

They had just started to make headway with the revolution planning, the cryptic red letters starting to add up into a coherent message that pointed towards something almost _reasonable._ But it wasn't enough that Curtis going off the grid would entirely derail it, and so long as everyone kept their heads--and Gilliam would see to it that they did--any further planning could be put off for a few days. Maybe having Captain America on board would do people some good. If it didn't worry them half to death. 

He hoped there wouldn't be a panic over it. Curtis wasn't as integral to the revolution as most people believed. He was glad they trusted him--it made things go a lot faster if nothing else--he just wished more people remembered Curtis took his heading from Gilliam. Anyone could take Curtis' place, so long as they listened and trusted. 

"He'd be fine," Curtis said. "So long as he keeps his head down and doesn't start any fights with the guards, it'd. It'd just be a really shitty vacation. He'd be cold and hungry, but he'd also be in good hands." 

_\--_

Bucky snorted, but it had a bitter note in it as he traced patterns into the wood grain with his metal hand. "Right. Steve Rogers not starting a fight. _That's_ a new one." Basically, Steve would be fucked. Oh, he could probably deal with everything- and there was a steady thrum of need to protect him, and anger that he couldn't- but it was still fucking typical that this train was starting to sound like a rough and tumble Brooklyn. Like they strung nasty alleys together into a train. 

_\--_

"Don't say that," Curtis said, his voice taking on a wary tone. "Please tell me he's not stupid enough to go starting a revolution all on his own. Please, tell me he can recognize there's a time and a place for that kind of shit." 

_\--_

"I'm not saying he's going to start a revolution-" But really, at this point, Bucky's not saying he won't, either- "But the punk has issues with authority and anyone he constitutes as a bully." He blinked, languid still on the floor, but his gaze hardened slightly, annoyance crossing his face, worry clouding his features. 

_\--_

Curtis groaned, head falling forward. "I really hope someone stops him from doing anything stupid." He does not want to find out what happens if one of them gets shot while they're switched. He scratched his nails through his hair before asking, "if he knew a revolution was in the works, it just needed more time, would he hold off?" 

If Steve wasn't careful, he could blow everything. 

_\--_

"We were in the US army. Not the Bolshevik revolution." Bucky replied, rolling his eyes and honestly trying not to think about Communist revolutions at the moment. Which, yeah that really wasn't an answer still. "I'd like to say he would wait until he understood what was going on, but then again. Steve. Rushing headlong into things." He shrugged, every movement still so careful, deliberate. 

_\--_

"Is a problem of his," Curtis finished. "Great. I hadn't known Captain America was such a hothead." Granted, he knew next to nothing about Captain America outside the bare bones of 'national treasure' and the connotation of 'goody-goody'. The latter was undergoing some renovation. 

_\--_

"Punk's been starting fights since he was ninety pounds and asthmatic." Bucky replied, blinking, a small smile darting onto his face for just a moment. "'Hotheaded' is just one word for it. Got denied the military so he became a goddamned science experiment and showed up in Germany to save my ass. I never know what to do with him." 

_\--_

"Huh," Curtis said. "Then I think I was given the wrong impression as a kid. He always came off more..." Patriotic was the word on his lips, but that didn't actually mean what his head was making it mean. "Respectable--" no that was wrong, too, "eh--by-the-book. While Stark did all the dashing around, taking dumb risks stuff." 

_\--_

"Well. Stark does do that, and if it weren't for his girlfriend- which you would love by the way- he'd probably be dead. Without _me_ , Steve woulda died in some back alley somewhere." Bucky slowly sat back up, cracking his back in a languid, fluid motion that was all feline, evidently more comfortable now. "The shit is not by the books. The crap he's stolen 'cause he thought we needed it." He shook his head, lips curling up. 

_\--_

Curtis' lips quirked just a bit, comfort settling his expression to something more neutral. Smiles he could force, good nature he could force, but when he was actually comfortable, the expression that overtook his face was quiet and subdued. "Captain America, the petty thief," he said, half-asking, half stating for the novelty. 

He didn't remember Stark having a girlfriend--he thought he was a playboy or something--so he took that comment about her and stored it away, something he'd check in on later. 

_\--_

"Only when he thought we needed it." Bucky murmured, shrugging. "We grew up poor." He eyed Curtis again, and nodded in satisfaction, blinking a couple times in the dark. 

He's expression grew a bit somber, then annoyed and then dejected, and he leaned forward again to look at Curtis' hair, wrinkling his nose. "You need to clean the blood out and cut the longer portions." He said, pursing his lips. 

_\--_

Curtis watched as the expressions cycled over Barne's face, wasn't all that surprised by what he eventually settled on saying. He nodded before pushing the closet door open with the toe of his shoe. He didn't want it to go back to being quiet, though--not when he was present. He needed the chatter to stay present, too. 

"Must be nice change, being well off now," he said back at Barnes as he slipped out into the bedroom. The bathroom was right off to the side and the light turned on for him, probably motion sensored or some shit. 

The man in the mirror just about looked the part of national icon. White, well fed, strong jaw, all muscle. Blond and blue-eyed. Curtis only remembered the gist of Captain America's shield, so the sense of familiarity confused him. He didn't dwell on it, just tilted his head to get a better look at the damage. There hadn't been so much blood that it'd ran, just blotches of dark-red-brown peppered over his scalp. He'd yanked out a good chunk of the front, disrupting the natural hair-line. 

Curtis switched on the water and started carding wet palm-fulls over his scalp. 

_\--_

Bucky slunk upwards and followed after Curtis, evidently just content to follow him and see what exactly and how exactly he was doing things. He leaned against the doorway, tilting his head back for a few moments before nodding, blinking as Curtis cascaded water over his head. "It's... Disorienting. But nice. Steve says it's what I deserve, I say it's what Steve deserves... All of it's..." He paused, trying to find the best word, chewing on his lower lip. 

"Bittersweet? It's nice, but it also makes me feel bitter about... When I was young and how starving Steve was then." No need to mention he gave his food off to the kid, too. His hunger didn't matter. Was irrelevant. Idly, he wondered if that thought process was new or if he thought like that _then_ , as well. "And about. Well, this sounds hypocritical, but why I deserve it. But for the most part... Yes. I like it." 

_\--_

Curtis turned to watch Barnes as he spoke. "That's where the survivor's guilt thing came from?" he asked. Curtis flicked the water off his fingertips and checked his reflection again. 

His reflection. 

For a split second, it was like he was just looking at himself. Then the hair registered, the clean face. He squinted, raised his hands to block his mouth and hairline from view and-- 

"What the fuck?" 

It looked like _his_ face. Maybe not exactly but... He dropped his hands. That was fucking disorienting. 

_\--_

Bucky ignored the first question easily, like he always did, instead narrowing his eyes as Curtis looked at his reflection, straightening up slightly. "What. That's very much a 'I found something out' face. Spill." 

_\--_

Curtis turned to Barnes and stuck his thumb at the mirror. "I..." Honestly he was still kind of reeling. "We have the same face. Me and Cap; we look exactly the same." 

_\--_

"That's... Weird." Bucky said eventually, raising his eyebrows. Well, that helped with his mental picture of Curtis then. Well, no, it didn't, because now his mental image was the exact same image as Steve and that was god awful confusing. "Dunno why you're freaking out so badly, though." 

_\--_

Curtis huffed a breath out his nose and shrugged. "It's. Not what I expected Captain America to look like." He ran his hand over his hair, turned back to the mirror and tried to figure out just where he'd need to cut and how short. He was having trouble with it, though; his mind was elsewhere. "...sound the same, too." That was why he didn't notice he was even in a different body until he and Barnes really started talking. 

_\--_

"Weird." Bucky reiterated, shrugging slowly. That was really strange, actually, but he didn't want to examine that, not exactly. The idea that Curtis literally looked like Steve was just... Strange. He quirked a brow suddenly, running fingers through his scalp to pull some of the loose strands back, amusement coloring his tone and returning some of the Brooklyn quips back. "What'd ya think the Cap looked like, then, huh?" 

_\--_

Not like a cannibal for starters. 

"I dunno," Curtis said. Tried to picture what he thought his face was supposed look like and couldn't nail down anything specific. "Just...like a stranger I guess." He shook his head, shrugged. "Where do you keep the scissors. Or...I dunno, you got an electric razor?" 

_\--_

"Nnnnn- You're not gonna shave all the hair off, are ya?" He asked, looking borderline incredulous. "I mean. Unless you're gonna. Do that... again..." He rummaged through the cabinet, handing over a pair of scissors and hesitating before handing over the electric razor, blinking. 

_\--_

Curtis took the scissors, his eyes going a little distant. "I might," he admitted. That and he wasn't entirely sure how to fix the damage he's done. He'd try, though. He makes little cuts with the scissors, pushes the hair around trying to hide the bald patches, to figure out what needed to go and what could stay. He wasn't having an easy time of it. He sighed, dropped his hands back to the counter. "That, and I've no idea what I'm doing." 

_\--_

"Fine. Just. Shave it." Bucky said, sighing slightly. "Probably will help me differentiate anyways." He looked up at how Curtis was cutting the hair, and pouted slightly, but leaned back against the doorway to let him do as he pleased. 

_\--_

Curtis set the scissors down and took up the razor. After he'd taken a moment to examine it, to remember how one of these things _worked_ , he adjusted the settings so he'd leave about a quarter of an inch, and turned the razor on. Christ, he'd forgotten how loud these things could be. Well, anyways. He lifted it up and started buzzing the hair across the crown of his--of Steve's--head. Tipping his head forward helped most of the hair fall into the sink, and he brushed off whatever lingered once he was done. 

...Now, if the hair were a little darker, and he had a beard...He'd almost think he'd simply stepped off the train and back into the 21st Century, rather than riding in a stolen body. 

_\--_

Well. He didn't look half bad. Bucky still let out a soft sigh, mentally lamenting the loss of Steve's hair. Still, it did help. He didn't feel like he needed to do quite quite a double take every time he looked at Curtis. "Good." He said, tilting his head. "Almost makes me wanna cut mine shorter. " Bucky brushed back his bangs again, smiling slightly. 

_\--_

Curtis considered the razor, the scissors, then looked back to Barnes and said, "well if you need an extra pair of hands." 

_\--_

Bucky smirked, wiggling his metal digits. "I'm all hands." He patted through his hair again, shrugging. "No thanks. I _like_ my hair. Can't bear short hair." 

_\--_

Curtis nodded, starting putting things back in the drawers, washed the hair down the sink. "Why not?" he asked, not sure if he'd get an answer. 

_\--_

Bucky was silent for a moment, watching as the hair went down the drain. He had to give himself a little shake because _dammit, Barnes, you are not allowed to get emotional over hair clippings._ "Because. I had short hair... Before. When I was. Just Bucky." He sniffed, lips twitching. 

_\--_

Curtis gave a little 'hmm'. He could tell he'd struck a nerve there and kept his eyes down, allowing Barnes some privacy while he worked through those feelings. 

After a beat, he started counting things off on his fingers. "So we've had breakfast, had our morning panic attacks, what's next on the roster?" 

_\--_

"Well. My day-to-day plans have kind of changed." Bucky replied after a while, scratching at the side of his head as he thought. "Buuuuut. I've been playing catch-up and therapy for the last few months. You probably know more about..." He gestured to the world in general, it seemed, " _This_ , than I do. I usually just spar or read or watch movies." 

_\--_

"Works for me," Curtis said, shrugging, stepping closer, leaning his hip on the counter as he gave Bucky his full attention again. He was back to his 'neutral' tone, voice pitched low in his register. Admittedly he was putting on something of a show to appear okay. He thought, though, if he acted at ease, Barnes would be at ease, too. 

_\--_

Bucky cocked his head at Curtis, making a confused face. "Y'know, I'm surprised you're not clamoring to get out there," He hiked a thumb towards the windows, raising an eyebrow, "More." Because yeah, he understood a creature like him, Bucky, being hesitant to go outside (not to mention he probably shouldn't have been allowed outside when he was, still half-out of his mind) but not... Not someone who was forced inside for years. 

Which. Actually, getting out at the moment wasn't a bad idea. After having to go into the elevator way too many time, he would rather like open spaces. Even if... People. Which. "Okay. Well. If you're gonna be in Steve's body for a while, then I guess it's only nice for you to meet everyone." He pursed his lips, then nodded, cocking his head slightly. "Let's go shopping. We can cook out tonight on the roof." 

_\--_

The words 'cook out' rattled through Curtis' head, knocking things loose. Maybe if he were at home, he could keep the images, the half-remembered tastes and smells from doing anything past make his stomach clench in guilt for a second or two, but he _wasn't_ at home and what Barnes suggested could happen--would happen. So Curtis remembered--remembered grilled hotdogs and hamburgers, his mom making steaks in the oven, cooking one of his kills over a fire made by burning scraps of the victim's clothing. His mouth watered. He wanted-- 

Curtis looked away, wiped a hand over his mouth and bit at the inside of his thumb and _willed_ himself not to shake. "No," he said, voice already raising higher, "No, I, I don't think that's a good idea. I'm better off staying inside." 

_\--_

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Curtis but nodded slowly, lowering his shoulders. "You got something up with food." It was either that or going outside, but once he was out there earlier, Curtis had seemed fine. But the fact that he had to practically shove a muffin down his gullet earlier just to pump some nutrients in him... that was telling at least. It wasn't an accusation so much as him figuring it out, verbally. "You didn't forget how, did you? 'Cause I did, at first." 

_\--_

"Forget--how to eat?" Curtis asked. "No, no, just." Fuck, how was he going to explain this. He squeezed his eyes shut, scraped his nails back and forth over his newly buzzed scalp and decided it'd just cause more pain to beat around the bush. "Its meat I have a problem with." 

_\--_

"You're one of those vegetarians." Bucky said, shrugging. "Well alright. Won't feed you any pork chops then." He smiled thinly, overly casual. Yeah, he wasn't an idiot, he knew there was more to it than just lifestyle, but he was starting to understand the importance of giving Curtis an out. If he got uncomfortable he could duck out and just say 'yeah.' If they were going to spend such close quarters together, Bucky _wanted_ to understand, but he wouldn't push. 

_\--_

"So you were taught about those, huh?" Curtis asked, hand dropping from his head. Oh he very much appreciated the out. Barnes was far from subtle but his intention was plain and Curtis was grateful. 

_\--_

"Yeah. I don't get it, but then again, I ate what I could afford back in the day. " Bucky replied, giving Curtis a short _look_ before shuttering it away, giving a small smile. "Okay. No cook-out. Vegetarian dishes." He eyed Curtis up and down, narrowing his eyes. "What about. You're good with like. Eggs. And butter? I heard about bout that too. " 

_\--_

As far as he could remember, eggs didn't taste or smell much like meat so he nodded. "I think that's called Vagin? Vegan. 'm not that." 

_\--_

"Alright. One more puzzle piece in the person who is Curtis. " Bucky smirked, nodding. "So I can still make a decent breakfast." He slipped his phone out of his pocket at a nearly audible buzzing sound, holding onto it with his left hand and maneuvering the touch screen with his right. He scanned it for and moment, then snorted, grinning. "Wanna meet an assassin? She can kill you with her thighs." 

_\--_

Curtis squinted at him. "Did she tell you to tell me that or is that honestly how you introduce her to people?" 

_\--_

"That seems as good of an introduction as anything." Bucky shrugged, smiling. "I, for one, am impressed. Being a former assassin." 

_\--_

"Speaking as a non-assassin," Curtis said, "you may want to find something else to lead with. She's not going to try to use her thighs on me, right?" 

_\--_

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a sky smile breaking onto his face. "She can probably find other uses for her thighs other than killing, if you persuaded her." He huffed out a laugh, then reached forward, grabbing onto Curtis' wrist quaint and pulling him behind Bucky. "We're taking the stairs this time." 

_\--_

Curtis hesitated for just a moment--being touched after having a sexual innuendo shot his way just made parts of him crawly and skittish--but he followed Barnes in the end. It wasn't the first time the man had touched him today and since Curtis was taking Barnes' boyfriend's body for a joyride, it made sense that the guy would act familiar with it. And he owed Barnes. It was easy to excuse it. 

But wow, no, he did not actually want anyone's thighs anywhere near him. Lady Assassin could look like...like... 

Well, Curtis couldn't remember the names of any smoking hot celebrities at the moment, but Lady Assassin could be a dead-ringer for one of them and he still would rather she keep those thighs to herself. 

_\--_

On the second flight of stairs, Bucky let go of Curtis' wrist, continuing to go down, steps much lighter than before. "Y'know, considering you're all kinds of fucked up, it's probably best you're here. Everyone is fucked up in the tower, to be honest." Blunt as always, Barnes. "It's a boring week if no one almost dies. " 

_\--_

"Yeah," said Curtis. "I feel right at home." 

He did not like that he'd given Barnes more than enough ammunition to call him 'all kinds of fucked up'. It was true, sure, but. Well, Curtis had gotten used to hiding it, had gotten used to people treating him with respect and the Past being the Past. He'd gotten used to having a purpose and letting that guide his actions and choices, to keep him busy and out of his head. 

The worst part is he couldn't argue with Barnes. Seriously, so much ammunition. And he'd only been stuck as Steve for, what, two hours? If that? 

_\--_

Bucky paused at the next stairwell, trying to remember if this was the right floor or the next one. It was better than it was a few months ago, when his neural pathways were fried to hell, but his memory still wasn't the greatest. He'd space it suddenly or forget why he walked Into a room. Forget that he was cooking something in in the oven and come back two hours later with a rather well done pizza. 

He peeked his head out of the door and nodded in satisfaction, making a small pleased sound. "Level 40." He affirmed, opening the door the rest of the way and strolling into the communal floor, looking around quickly. Tony was hunched over several files at the kitchen table, making annoyed little noises here and there, but otherwise engrossed in his work. 

"Privetstviya, Natasha." Bucky said lightly, watching her turn and give him a slow smile. Considering It was still only like eleven at the latest, she was wearing a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants and an oversized sweater, hair pulled neatly to one side in a braid. She was leaning casually against the counter, sipping tea, before her gaze flicked over to Curtis, the deliberate smile growing. 

"Hey. You brought Not-Steve along." She wrinkled her nose, narrowing her eyes. "You cut his hair. I _just_ got him to modernize it, too." 

_\--_

"The 'Not-Steve's' name is Curtis," he said, eyebrows raised, trying to sound light. 

_\--_

"Okay," Natasha replied, giving a slow one shouldered shrug, "Curtis." 

Bucky scowled at her tea, rolling his eyes. "Did I buy coffee for you for no reason?" 

"Yes. Just wanted you to know I'm around." She hiked a thumb over to Tony, who was mumbling and furrowing his brow, looking quite erratic. "Thought he could use it since he's dismantling the global warming epidemic." Her words were slow and casual, almost overly, hinting at no emotion other than feline contentment. 

_\--_

Curtis shot Tony a sidelong glance, frowning when he realized he was apparently struggling. What the fuck, he's Tony fucking Stark, why was he having problems with this? Especially since there was no doubt that CW7 was going to fuck over everything. 

Well, no, he was being unfair, it'd been like an hour or something. Still, his mental image of Tony Stark did not involve him muttering to piece of paper like Painter on one of his bad days. 

"How much did he tell you?" Curtis asked, eyes returning to Natasha. She knew he wasn't Steve and she knew that global warming was involved, though maybe not that they were gunning to shut down the current prevention methods. 

_\--_

Natasha shrugged again, moving to seat herself into one of the bar stools at the island counter, propping her legs up onto the table and holding onto her mug with two hands. Shaking her head slowly, head tilted, she said, "Nah. He's in his own world. I just decided his mumbling and grumbling. You are not Steve but are in Steve's body, you are the hare bringer for this month's destruction which is, evidently, " she carded a look over her shoulder, at Tony, then back to Curtis, "Some atmospheric cooling. I'll say, it's a lot less 'danger' than aliens." 

Tony looked up at Curtis and grinned, making a flapping motion with his hand. "Good, you're here. So, on average, what's the average temperature in your future? We talking frostbite after minutes or just 'damn, Australia isn't 120 degrees anymore?'" 

_\--_

It took a few seconds for Curtis to answer, mostly because he was having to uncover specific information from Before. 

"CW7 went up and temperatures world-wide were below freezing before the end of the day. It just got colder from then on--maybe it was something close to twenty below by the third day. That's when I got on the train." He shrugged. "We didn't exactly get weather updates after that. Those in the front seemed to know what the temperature was, but they didn't share that information with the Tail." 

_\--_

Tony pursed his lips, blinking, before giving a thoughtful little nod to show that he'd heard, turning back to his papers and skimming through again, humming to himself. He circled a few things on one article he'd had printed out and then underlined something in the actual manila folder, tuning everybody out again. 

"So, future boy," Natasha said, raising an eyebrow at Curtis, "You're like a backwards Steve Rogers. Back to the Future and all that." She was being friendly and was joking but the movements were still _too_ purposeful, too deliberate. She had been growing into her new personalities with surprising ease, but it was obvious that there was just some portions of herself that she couldn't fit into the nooks and crannies. "I'm Natasha, by the way. Though I assume you knew that since James is your tour guide." 

_\--_

It was something of a surprise, Tony taking him at his word without pressing or jeering. Curtis realized that because he'd mentally labeled him _'Front'_ , he'd expected Tony to keep treating him as something to pity, mock or generally talk over. 

He clearly had to revise his assessment of the man. 

As for Natasha, she reminded Curtis of the bitch in yellow. There was a certain fakeness to her, some uncanny amount of precision in the way she spoke, moved, emoted. He tried to all that down, though. He'd just met her. She wasn't _actually_ part of the Front. She was Barnes' friend. 

Speaking of that--he glanced to Barnes and asked, "'James'?" 

_\--_

Bucky blinked and gave Natasha an exasperated look, shrugging his left shoulder slightly. "It's my first name. You didn't think my parents named me 'Bucky,' did'ya?" He snorted, cocking his head to the side. 

_\--_

Curtis shrugged, threw up a smirk and said, "weren't you born 1902 or some shit? Who knows what they named kids back then." 

_\--_

"You're off by fifteen years." Bucky replied, then gave a shit-eating grin. "That seems to be your normal year skip, though." He chuckled, Natasha reaching over to punch him in the shoulder, hiding a smile of her own. He brushed a hand through his hair, shrugging. "Bucky's just a nickname. Because 'James' is boring." 

_\--_

Curtis' smile started to reach his eyes as he watched Barnes and Nat interact. Something about casual camaraderie helped put him at ease. Probably because all the relationships back home were so well worn. The whole Tail was practically family. 

"Don't look like much of a James to me, anyways," he said. 

_\--_

"There were a couple years I went by it." Bucky shrugged, glancing at Natasha. "But I don't much care for it. But don't be all hoity toity on 'Bucky.' 'Curtis' ain't much better." 

_\--_

Curtis shrugged, the tilt to his head and the twist to his lips just reinforcing the impression of 'that's life; what can you do?' 

_\--_

Natasha kept staring at Curtis, her eyes cataloging and judging his every movement, his every response. After a few minutes, she just shrugged, turning back to her tea and scowling, holding the mug out daintily, amusement crossing her face. "James, make me another, hm? I'm comfortable." 

Bucky scowled, but grabbed a hold of the mug, moving to fill it with water and shove it in the microwave. "Only because you beat me yesterday. God, I still feel that one in the ribs." 

_\--_

Curtis met Natasha's gaze evenly and, after Barnes had stepped into the kitchen, he decided to take one of the stools himself. 

He had a much better poker face than Steve, and while his expression was neutral, it wasn't the cold, detached neutral it fell into if he wasn't careful. He was a guest and it wouldn't do if he looked unapproachable. 

_\--_

Bucky leaned against the counter, arms crossed, as he waited for the water to heat up, expression mock-agitated but a smile threatening to dance at his lips. Well, at least he was still successfully pushing everything to the back of his head. 

"So," Natasha said, flitting her gaze back on Curtis and giving a vague smile, "You were on a train for at least fifteen years. Anything from the land of non-transportation that you missed?" 

_\--_

Curtis considered his answer, leaned on the counter, chin resting in his palm, fingers curled over his mouth. 

"Y'know, it’s not something I've really thought about," he said. "No point in missing it if you won't get it back. But I guess I spoke too soon." His lips curled just a little, a forced smile at his own expense. 

_\--_

Natasha's lips slowly curled into a genuine smile, eyes going soft as she nodded, cocking her head slightly, recalculating the man in front of her. This was a man that she could relate to, at least in temperament. Where almost everyone else longed for the past, attempted to get bits and pieces back, here was this newcomer, Curtis, who didn't know and didn't seem to care. Oh, he was obviously holding certain portions of himself back, but weren't they all? "Good. But now that you're here, you can start thinking about it." 

_\--_

He was starting to see her a little clearer, Curtis thought. He decided to be honest. "Could, but won't. Hopefully, I'll be going back and...it'll just be that much harder if I start making myself comfortable." 

_\--_

"You want to go back?" Natasha asked, gesturing to Bucky to show him where the tea bags were kept, the ex-assassin grabbing one at random to soak in the water. He scowled when some of the caramel-colored liquid spilled between a joint in his left arm, scrunching up his nose and then glaring at Natasha. 

_\--_

"Yeah," he said, easily. "I assume you want to get Steve back, so where else would I go?" 

_\--_

"I wasn't asking about where you'll be going, or about Steve." Natasha replied, quirking up one side of her mouth. She turned towards Bucky and made grabby hands for the mug of tea, nodding her head when he handed it over, inhaling it slowly. 

"So. Everything died?" Tony piped up from the table, a pen hanging out of his mouth. The file and articles were looking more and more marked up by various colored ink, but at least the mumbling had mostly stopped a few minutes ago. 

_\--_

Good timing, Tony. Curtis couldn't ask for a better distraction. He leaned on his elbows, making eye contact with the man across the room. "Last I checked," he said. 

_\--_

"That is not specific, but I'll go with it." Tony mumbled, circling one more bit in the file before bundling everything together in a concise pile, placing the pens almost gently on top. "Any replies yet, Jarvis?" 

_"None, sir. I will alert you as soon as there is."_

"Right. You," He pointed at Curtis, raising an eyebrow, "Are giving me a headache, Thomas the tank engine. Buuuut, I guess this means Pepper won't yell at me for making another suit, so points for you, Glen Coco." 

_\--_

Curtis' expression shifted from detached to contemplative. 

He knew that reference. Who the fuck was Glen Coco? Why did he know Glen Coco, I mean Thomas the Tank Engine was easy to place, but he knew that name and he knew it was something he'd found funny-- 

Christ, see, this is why he doesn't fuck with old world stuff. He scrubs his hand over his scalp, pushing the thoughts away. 

His eyes landed on Natasha's cup and he realized he was thirsty. And he could drink as much water as he wanted. He got up off the stool, asked Natasha, "so where do you keep your glasses?" 

_\--_

Natasha watched him coolly, hiking a thumb over to a cabinet to the left of the sink. Her nails were, surprisingly, cut short and neat rather than long and claw-like as so many would assume from her. 

Bucky had snorted at the latter reference- Clint had all but forced him and Steve to watch the movie, promising bodily harm if they did not- coming to sit at one of the stools, swiping Natasha's legs off the counter in one fell swoop of his arm, smirking. 

"Buuuuuut, I should be able to get a sample of it within the next couple of days to a week. Right now I'm stuck with scientific journals and potentially a formula to the material in the next two days." Stark said, chewing on the end of the pen again. "Then the real fun begins." 

_\--_

Following Natasha's direction, Curtis pulled a glass from the cabinet and couldn't stop himself from marveling over how clean it was. It was just a moment, but it was probably obvious to the others what he was thinking as he turned the glass over in his hands before finally pointing himself at the sink. He filled the glass, drained it completely, filled it again. 

"Okay," he said, turning to Tony. It wasn't 'good', because they only had a _few weeks_ until the rockets were to go up, but it was something. And Tony was clearly taking this seriously, which Curtis appreciated. "Thank you." He took another gulp of water--clean fucking water. 

_\--_

"Don't thank me yet, Johnnie Gray." Tony replied, rolling his eyes. "So far, I've just taken some notes and outlined potential problematics." He tapped a finger on the file, glancing up at him. "But you're welcome for the coffee and breakfast, yes." 

Bucky grinned, looking between everyone like he had just been handed the fucking world. "Buster Keaton" He murmured, running a finger through his hair. "I remember him." 

_Tony rolled his eyes again, looking increasingly exasperated. "Yeah, yeah, go have your train-related references together, eh?"_

_\--_

Curtis 'hmm'ed a dismissive note over the reference exchange and took another sip of his water. "Thanks for taking me _seriously_ , then," he said, then added half into his glass, "well, as seriously as Tony Stark takes _anything,_ " and finished his water. 

_\--_

"I for one like living where I can drink wherever I damn well please." Tony responded, snorting. He looked vaguely uncomfortable at all the gratitude flying around, flapping a hand around and avoiding eye contact. 

_\--_

Curtis actually _smiled._ That was another thing he hadn't expected; Tony Stark being uncomfortable in the face of gratitude. 

Granted, Curtis smile was all in his eyes, but it was also just bordering on 'smug'. 

He shrugged and turned his attention back to Barnes and Natasha, weight to the counter at his back. He liked having the little island between him and...he guessed his 'hosts'. They were, after all, strangers. It made him feel a little safer to have that boundary, and to be the only one standing. So he made himself comfortable where he was, just next to the sink, and had no intention of moving. 

_\--_

"Right." Tony said, standing up after a moment, files under his arm and swiping through to the island to steal Natasha's tea, winking at the assassin before practically skipping to the elevator. "I'll be in my lab if you need me." He paused a beat, blinking. "Please don't need me." And then he was gone, Natasha narrowing her eyes at the closing elevator doors, snapping her finger languidly at Bucky. 

"I need more tea." 

"Oh my god, Natalia, I'm going to punch you." Bucky replied, even as he was standing up, snapping something, most likely a string of curses, in Russian at her. 

_\--_

Since he was right there, Curtis turned back to the cabinet and pulled a coffee mug off one of the higher shelves. He offered it to Barnes when he finished coming around to Curtis' side of the counter. 

_\--_

Bucky gave Curtis a grateful nod, turning the sink on to fill it with water before throwing it back into the microwave, listening to the soft hum of radiation for a moment before turning to him, cocking his head to the side. He wanted to make mention about how well-adjusted Curtis was to everything and how he himself was probably going to scream later, but that seemed kind of rude and improper, so he clamped his mouth shut. Mrs. Barnes and her manners, after all. The ones that were slowly trickling in (It took four months before any memory that didn't relate to Steve or his years as the Winter Soldier showed up, so entwined they were). 

_\--_

Curtis looked back, meeting Bucky's eyes. The guy looked like he wanted to say something, but maybe didn't know how? Curtis waited, to see if the words came together for him or whatever. 

(Screaming later would probably happen. Also more crying. And hiding somewhere dark and cramped. There was really no telling when any of these things would need to be done, but they were certainly waiting for Curtis on the periphery, waiting for his semblance of composure ripped down the middle.) 

_\--_

"Unless you want to meet the rest of them, I suggest we start filing back to the other floor. Or outside. But the latter is a no-go, so..." Bucky said instead, face flinching minutely as the microwave went off, turning swiftly and grabbing the near-boiling water and dunking another tea bag in it, adding a splash of sugar and honey. He handed it off to Natasha, giving her a shallow smile. 

_\--_

"Depends on who the 'other's' are," Curtis said. Also, if he went back up to Barnes' floor, it'd just be the two of them, or possibly just Curtis. Curtis did not want to be alone, didn't actually want to spiral back into self-loathing, to lose himself. If he was around people, he'd have a distraction. He'd have reason to perform and stay level. 

Barnes already knew Curtis was fucked up and Curtis worried he felt a little too comfortable with the man already, like if they were alone, he wouldn't feel the need to hold himself together. 

_\--_

Bucky gave Curtis an inexplicable look then turned to Natasha, raising an eyebrow. 

"Banner's away, Pepper's probably in a meeting and/or already arguing with Tony in the lab, Clint's 'roosting' somewhere," And there she smirked, still infinitely amused that everyone had adopted her term for Clint's topic of sleep without arguing it. "Random people here and there. Sam is... I don't know." She waved a hand. "Somewhere. I only woke up an hour ago." 

Bucky rolled his eyes at her, knowing very well that an hour for Natasha is enough for her to know _anything_ , but he didn't comment on it. For some reasons there was a pressure building in the back of his head, and he really didn't want to think about it. Maybe having to deal with social settings would be better, anyways. He had a feeling he was going to wake up the next morning and not want to move. At all. 

_\--_

Banner had a familiar ring to it, but the rest... 

"Sam a 'he' or a 'she'?" he asked, just for something to say. 

_\--_

"A he." Bucky responded, raising an eyebrow, looking slightly amused for a moment. "Y'looking for a non-locomotive hookup?" 

_\--_

"No," Curtis said, tone and expression so very, very neutral. That was one thing he knew he wouldn't feel tempted by in this strange vacation to the past. Besides, this wasn't his body, and Steve and Bucky seemed at least somewhat serious. He wasn't about to go make a cheater out of Captain America. 

_\--_

Natasha hiked her eyebrows up behind her mug of tea, and Bucky would have guessed that her lips were curved up in surprise. It's the expression that he wanted to make at least. The blankness in the tone... "Yeah, alright. Crossing anything sex-related off the sheet. Understandable." 

_\--_

"It was on the list?" Curtis asked. "Really? Aren't I wearing your boyfriend?" 

Maybe he shouldn't have asked that. 

_\--_

"Oh _sure._ A nice dame would probably do you well." Bucky said, giving a quirk to his lips. It seemed so horribly placed upon once the second words hit his head, for a variety of reasons. The smile slipped off and for a split-second, white-faced horror was the only clear emotion on his face. 

The first being obvious; Curtis was in charge at the moment. No Steve. Steve was gone and probably on a post-apocalyptic train trying to survive. Steve was gone and Bucky couldn't help him and Bucky himself needed Steve in order to be a well-oiled machine. Which. Bad analogy, and it seemed his brain just wanted to fuck with him. 

He didn't even want to think about the second reason, that being that _Curtis was in charge right now._ Like a body was just a meatsuit to be paraded around. Like the mind inside could just be changed with the flip of a switch, and boom, different person. 

Bucky knew he was blinking owlishly, blankly at Curtis, but he couldn't help it. Any humour was gone from his face and replaced with that horrible nothingness. He couldn't- He couldn't deal with this. Not when his head had been doing so good. 

_\--_

Clearly, Curtis should not have said that. 

"Bucky," he said, voice pitched low and gentle. "It's okay. Where's your head at right now, man, what's wrong?" Because like fuck if Curtis wouldn't at least try to fix what he broke. 

_\--_

Bucky shook his head violently, shoving his hands into his pockets as though to hide the tension in them, blinking a bit of the blankness away but still just standing there, looking almost frozen into place. He didn't want to talk, didn't think he'd have the right words to even express everything. Thoughts were spinning out of control in his head, and he realized, belatedly, that he was breathing rapidly. 

Of course, _of course,_ something as innocuous as a mention to the events would tip him off. Would spiral him into a mixture of reality and his own pitfalls. Because with the thought memories were cycling through his head and for some reason, he couldn't fucking cut off the splash of red over everything in his mind. 

Natasha looked between the two, narrowing her eyes slightly at Curtis but otherwise not looking extremely concerned, just mildly. She took another sip of tea, then slipped slowly off of her stool and going the long way around the island so that she wouldn't be walking up behind him. She came up right beside Curtis, her face neutral. "He gets like this. Words aren't going to help." 

_\--_

"What does?" he asked her. "Fresh air?" He was thinking about how antsy Bucky got in the elevator. Maybe some open space and some privacy would help him. 

_\--_

"I wouldn't take him outside, if I were you." Natasha said, giving Curtis a sympathetic look before shrugging, glancing over at Bucky. "I suggest letting him calm down on his own." She huffed out a breath, stepping away and around the island again to grab her tea, before making her way to the elevator. "He's not too violent anymore." 

Bucky tried to ignore the voices, tried to work on _centering_ himself, like he'd been learning about, but it wasn't _working_ dammit, and he knew he was just staring into space, but the thought of moving on his own accord seemed like an aberration to what he was supposed to do, and he didn't know what he was supposed to do, and half-rissen memories were bubbling up and formulating themselves into _something_ akin to panic, and he just didn't know. 

_\--_

Curtis nodded and scratched his fingers over his scalp a few times before dragging his hand back over to rub at his neck. 

He kept himself grounded, kept the guilt at bay by forcing himself to remember how important it was for him to stay present. If he was around, and if the opportunity presented itself, he could help fix his mistake. Even if he couldn't, losing himself would just complicate matters, would add to Barnes' struggles, would possibly take focus away from the person who actually needed it. 

But fuck, Curtis was stupid for saying that shit. And he didn't know what to do with himself, now, past...Be. 

_\--_

The elevator door closed shut behind Natasha and Bucky jerked his head to the direction of the sound, breathing speeding up as his body cataloged it as a threat. He turned back to Curtis, slowly, still wide-eyed and mostly unseeing, taking his hands from his pockets to clench around each other, trying not to shake. He didn't know if he succeeded. 

"'M sorry..." He murmured, absently, about the only words he _could_ say at the moment. Anything else was just. Too much effort and too close to him admitting that it's okay, everything's okay, when it's _not._

_\--_

Looking at Barnes, he wasn't sure how Natasha could just _leave._ Maybe she did know better, having actually dealt with one of these before, but when he looked at him, he saw a man who needed _something._ Curtis wanted to comfort him, but wasn't sure how well physical contact would go over. Still, he turned to Barnes, let his hand rest near him, on the counter, movement slow and hard to miss. 

"Me too," he said. Wanted to say more. Settled on, "Why don't we head back to your floor? We'll take the stairs." 


	4. Train II

Edgar sneered--like it wasn't Steve's fault in the first place. Not that he believed he was Steve. In his mind, this was Curtis, literally having lost it. 

Of course, Curtis never called himself a leader--was so damn adamant that he wasn't one, even as he went about _leading_ everyone in sight. "That just figures," Edgar muttered, "fucking figures." He scratched at his hair again. "Are you gonna act like a leader, then? Show a little command, maybe, can you do that? 'stead'a lookin' like you're sorry for taking up space?"

\--

"You're projecting him on me, I think." Steve replied, raising his eyebrows. "For once, I'm taking up _less_ space." He scratched at his chin, humming slightly. "But if you give me the workings of this place I can see what I can do. Considering I'm in the guy who evidently takes care of this, it's the least bit I can do. " besides, despite his confusion and hesitation here, it seemed like the people in the back of this train truly did need help. Might as well try. 

\--

"Right," he said. "I'll jus' tell you how the whole train works, shall I." He was stalling. Honestly, Edgar didn't know where to start. He'd never had to explain their way of life to _anyone,_ least of all _Curtis_. He was the follower, not a teacher. 

But he stepped in anyways and motioned down the row on the right-hand side, behind Steve. "Arright, down there, in the forth car, that's where schools startin' in maybe an hour, less, maybe, I dunno. Sometimes y'sit in on that, help Dunkin keep the tykes focused. Yer sure as hell not gonna be holdin' any meetin's today about the red notes. You probably don't even remember what those are, do you? So no, so that's not happenin', fuckin', jesus, what else..."

\--

"The notes in those pills?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "The ones that... Gilliam..?... showed me?" Because sure he knew about them, but he already had his suspicions when he didn't get any damn answers on their origin, other than 'an informant.' Still. He wouldn't say anything until he knew more. 

Right. So Curtis stopped in at the school to help out. He took care of the people in the carts and was willing to give his only food of the day away. From the sounds of it, Curtis was not like him. More like Bucky, sacrificing his own well-being for others. And if that didn't spin a deep thrum of guilt and nausea in his gut, then he didn't know what would. 

Sure, he knew how to lead. He sure as hell didn't like it half the time, but whatever he stood up against was worse than his forebodings about little Steven Rogers from Brooklyn taking a stand. He liked to stand up against things, liked to test his own strengths, because for the longest time, that was all he could do. So yeah. He could lead. And if Steve forgot to lead, he could fall back on the persona of Captain America, straighten his shoulders and give some ridiculously scripted line that he'd thought up to keep people in order. 

\--

"Ch'yeah," Edgar said. "We've started gettin' one like every day now. They're vague as fuck an', y'know, 'm not so sure we can trust 'em."

\--

"You shouldn't. They're vague and if the front is so bad, how can you logically trust someone with just the information of 'they're a sympathizer? I tried asking GIlliam and he changed the subject pretty quickly." Steve said, shrugging slowly. If the kid was already suspicious of their origin, then just him knowing his vague impressions was probably okay.

\--

Edgar's face scrunched up in confusion. This was a full 180 and he didn't know what to make of it. Especially if Gilliam's word suddenly wasn't good enough. "What, so you don't trust Gilliam now?" 

\--

Steve shrugged, slowly, filing that away for later. Okay, so Curtis really trusted Gilliam. That was good to know. But he? "No. He hasn't given me a reason to trust him so far. Not that I don't think he's trying to help, but." Not that he trusted anyone on this train. Maybe Edgar more than most, strictly because of how straight he was, blunt and truthful with almost no capacity for sleight of hands.

\--

"He's--he's fuckin' Gilliam," Edgar said, like that explained everything. "'s always been good enough for you."

\--

"Yes. For Curtis. How many times must I reiterate? He. Is. Not. Me."

\--

This time, Edgar actually nodded. "Yeah...well..." It was possible he was finally starting to believe they were two separate people, Steve and Curtis, and it seemed to scare him. He pushed on through the uncertainty, through the fear, because Edgar only knew how to go forward. "If anyone asks, you trust Gilliam like most people trust in God, okay?" 

\--

"I'm really starting to get that." Steve sighed, looking beyond Edgar to glance around, lifting a shoulder. "'t doesn't seem so healthy for that, but I'm not here to judge." Which, wasn't exactly true, because he was judging and hard. Not that he wanted to, but Steve Rogers could be very judging when he needed to. And if he knew anything from his insanely ridiculous life, it was that putting all your faith into some magical leader was very much not good. 

Of course it was hypocritical, considering. Well, Everything, but still. "I can play the apostle."

\--

Edgar's jaw worked as he looked Steve over. "Seems t'me like you're doing plenty of judging already. How 'boutchu not."

\--

"Oh, shaddup." Steve muttered, the rib just coming naturally to him. Wrong accent, but he could pretend. "I'm being logical about this."

\--

"No," Edgar said, stepping back into his space, shoulders thrown back, "what you're being is an asshole."

"Oy!" called a voice from a little down the way. It was a skinny man with wild red hair, and he seemed to be in the middle of leading a boy down the car. "Watch yer language; school's about to start." His accent was thick and Irish and he gave Edgar a look not unlike the one leveled at him by Tanya earlier--a parent reprimanding their child, who just happened to have a perchance for being an unruly shit. 

\--

"Yeah, people tend to say that." Steve responded, muttering, as he watched the man move down the cart, blinking. A sudden thought crossed his mind, and he turned back to Edgar, cocking his head in curiosity once no one was in ear shot. "Did people around the world come onto this train, then?"

\--

The glare Edgar leveled at him was flat as fuck. "No, y'think?" he said. "Great deduction, there, Sherlock."

\--

Steve gave him a level stare, head still tilted to the side. "So you were three when you came on here. Why's your accent so thick, then, if there's so many people of different..." He wagged a hand impatiently, "Languages."

\--

Edgar's face screwed up like he'd swallowed a lemon. "Th'fuck kinda question is that? What's it matter? Hey, how about instead of wasting time asking askin stupid fucking questions, you think up something that might actually be useful, 'ey?" 

\--

Steve stared at him, then turned away, looking around again. "Fine. Everyone keeps saying I- Curtis- am busy. Maybe go over what it is I do? Besides stupidly giving away most of the food he's given?"

\--

Edgar glowered at him. It was one thing for him to take the piss out of Curtis--there was no doubt he did it out of love--but he wouldn't hear that kind of shit from a stranger. And Steve was starting to become his own person in Edgar's mind, indeed a stranger. Edgar really didn't like him.

Drawing in a breath, his expression shifted to something cooler, something a little more on the lines of deadly. It was a look he'd learned from Curtis years ago. He stepped in toe to toe with Steve and said, "Oy, first of all, Curtis isn't stupid, arright, he looks after us. He looks after everyone. I don't care who the fuck you think you are, but he's ten times the man you'll ever be, arright? We clear?" 

He prayed that somewhere in that thick skull, Curtis would hear him. He wanted him to, because it was the truth, even if Curtis was so fucking humble he wouldn't hear of it, would shut Edgar down and wave off just about anyone else. The only person Curtis took praise from was Gilliam, and it was still with what looked to be a heavy heart.

\--

Steve met Edgar's gaze with a flat look, shrugging one shoulder. "Maybe he is. He sounds like a good man. Perhaps I'm a little biased considering I was dropped into the body of a starving man." He swallowed, taking a long look at Edgar again before his gaze just... Shut down. Completely. The kid was just looking out for his friend- because Curtis was obviously closer to him than just vague and impersonal 'leader'- and Steve was bashing the man. It was probably a bit maddening to him.

"Look, sorry. I'm just... Trying to figure out what's going on. I'll try not to... Be rude."

\--

"Yeah," Edgar said. "Y'do that. Maybe think a minute about how the starvin' man feels, since it's his life yer livin', and this ain't one of your spacious New York condos." He motioned around the car. "Fucking Christ."

\--

Steve batted a his eyes a few times in sudden surprise, but stuttered it away immediately. "I know what starving feels like, Edgar. Just not in a while." He followed Edgar's motions, shaking his head. "I never lived as bad as this train. But I know how to go without."

\--

Edgar had decided that what he hated the most about Steve was the quiet fire behind his eyes. Everything he fucking said was said with conviction, with the look that only came over Curtis rarely, Edgar suspected because it took quite a bit of energy to maintain it. Steve brought that fire to everything, and it made Curtis look like a fucking shadow by comparison. Edgar wished that he could see this out ofCurtis, but instead it was some clown wearing his face. 

Rather than acknowledging any reason he may have to apologize, Edgar said, "Yeah, right, whatever, do you wanna learn what you should be doing with yourself or not?"

\--

"I've only been asking for a while." Steve replied, scratching at his itching jaw again. He was deciding that beards or any facial hair was just fucking annoying and needless. 

\--

"Well," Edgar said, "usually, its either you're in there," he motioned to the curtains, "making plans with Gilliam, or your out here going through with those plans. If its not that, then you're picking up slack and making sure everyone's getting on." He stopped and considered their situation for a moment before saying, "we've been drillin' for a few weeks now, for the fight that's coming. You could call on one of those."

\--

"Right." Steve said, cocking his head. "Just- Stick around, regardless, yeah? I'll do whatever I need to to help out." He blinked, scrunching his eyebrows. "I think I'd prefer to watch one first. Get my bearings, yeah?"

\--

"Right, right, yeah," Edgar said. "You jus' call it, I'll handle the leading bit this time." Which wouldn't be too hard. Curtis had left him in charge a couple of times when something or other called him a way. He gave Steve a critical once over. "Do you know how to fight?"

\--

Steve actually chuckled at that one, huffing out a vaguely amused breath. "Yes. I know how to fight, I promise you."

\--

Edgar's frown got deeper, but his eyes a little sadder. He just didn't like Steve looking so damn smug, is all. 

Or happy. While actively being Not Curtis.

"Arright, well--I'll take the right lane, you take the left, jus'. If y'see any guys between your age and mine--and your age is, like, thirty-three by the way--ask 'em if they wanna drill. Don't chat anyone up, arright, and for fuck's sake try t'look like you belong here?"

 

\--

"Right... What constitutes a drill, exactly?" Steve asked, clucking his tongue in annoyance that Edgar seemed to think he didn't even know what age around he was. He still looked sort of kind of similar to himself back at home. Maybe a few years older.

\--

"Look, jus'--don't worry about it," Edgar said, waving him off. "I'll handle that."

\--

"Fine." Steve muttered, starting to walk in the direction he had been pointed, dropping his face into a cool mask. "But I do expect a long explanation of this whole ordeal afterwards. If you want me to help fully." 

\--

"Look, 's not rocket science," Edgar said. "I think if you have working eyes and ears you'll figure it out pretty fucking quickly." Its not like it was all that complicated. There was only so much they could train with and only so hard they could train without giving themselves mess of injuries. "Jus'--go," Edgar waved Steve off towards the left-hand aisle.

\--

Steve rolled his eyes but did as Edgar said, scurrying off to the left hand side and scrubbing at his brow. Okay, he officially had had a headache. Sighing, he let himself stand for a moment, but he eventually started moving, doing As Edgar asked for anyone who was between the correct ages, keeping it short and sweet in his questions.

Honestly, if training meant fighting and working out, he could deal with that. At this point, a fight wouldn't be /horrible. / but he really doubted these train folk would be fighting as viciously as as the avengers trained.

\--

Most of the people Steve spoke to seemed eager to do another set of drills, dropping what they were doing and whatever conversations they'd been holding to follow him through the cars. Word traveled fast, too, and after the fifth or so recruiting, people were expecting Steve and were already ready to fall in. Several times Steve didn't even need to speak to someone--another one of his tag-alongs would call out first, addressing a passenger by name and either ask them to join in or outright tell them to 'get their shit'. Many of them fell in with heavy pieces of pipe in hand, but one or two dragged what look to be make-shift practice dummies out from their bunk-spaces. 

Edgar was waiting for Steve at the end of the first car, in the open space where it met with the second. He had his own following and gave Steve an encouraging nod after a look at his own.

\--

It was definitely an odd experience. And that was dumbing down all of the thoughts about this circling through his head. Oh, like he wasn't used to people just falling in line- because that did happen from time to time- but the exact reasoning behind this was... A bit odd.

He stepped over by Edgar, leaning in to say quietly, "Well. Very French Revolution, I suppose." He kept his face drawn but there was another stab of amusement inside, which he felt he shouldn't actually feel. The fact that there was a crowd of people with pipes and other blunt objects was very telling that this was not a time to smile. 

\--

Edgar shook his head. "I don't fuckin' know what that even means."  
\--

Steve leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe I will go to this school of yours." He shook his head, glancing around at the throng of people that both he and Edgar brought, at everything they broughtwith them. Right. 

\--

"Lil' late now," Edgar said, then he turned to their group, all the twenty-somethings milling around waiting for orders. "Arright--go on, set up. The fuck you waiting for, get the targets out here, le'sgo!" 

The people who'd brought make-shift dummies with them started pushing to the front of the crowd. There was cloth-ropes tied around each and one by one, they were arranged on the walls along the distribution car. Everyone else started crowding at the opposite wall, forming small groups across from one of the targets, eventually filing into rough lines. Edgar stayed at the mouth of the car next to Steve. He motioned at the goings on and said, "right, so, when they get set up, they're gonna go one at a time at those targets."

\--

Steve watched the proceedings with a curious tilt to his head, blinking at the formations of everyone. He turned to Edgar when he spoke, nodding slowly. "Do they know how to fight? Or is this all... Very much a street brawl?" He asked, eyeing the people with a critical eye. 

\--

"They know what t'aim for," Edgar said. Since it looked like everyone was more or less ready, he shouted, "team one, go!" 

The people at the front of each line rushed forward, some swinging pipes, others swinging fists at the targets on the walls. All of them went for the gut first, then the head, then hit however they felt like it, a few choosing to trap the dummy's necks under their pipes, as if to choke them. They got about ten seconds to do as they liked before Edgar shouted, "team two, ready--" and all of them stepped away, moved back to the opposite wall, fell at the back of their respective lines. 

"Go!" shouted Edgar. Team two did the same as the group before them. 

\--

Steve watched in silence as Edgar directed the people, narrowing his eyes as he analyzed what was going on, nodding in satisfaction. Okay, so maybe he didn't have the right to nod in satisfaction, but hoardes of people evidently attacking did tend to work. But. Only so long as the opponents are weaponless dummies as well.

"Okay, so they know how to hit an unmoving target." Steve said in between him having to shout. "But are they good hand-to-hand?"

\--

"Ch'yeah," said Edgar. "We usually do that next." He gave Steve a look like he'd just wasted his time before calling on the next group. "Usually give 'em a couple chances each, y'know."  
\--

Steve shrugged, looking on. "Hey, 's nit my fault if I don't know the order of things."

\--

Edgar made a show of rolling his eyes. Look at how much he cares, Steve. Just look. 

\--

"Fine," Steve said, holding out his hands, giving Edgar a split second of a smirk, "By all means, continue. "

\--

Edgar did continue. After several rounds, he called for a stop and for people to 'pair up'. It'd been expected--during the last cycle of teams, those who'd already gone had started throwing glances Edgar and Steve's way. The pairing off changed the shape of the group, half of them making lines two by two down the car, the other half waiting on either wall, watching as slowly the sparring starts. Most of them bounce from foot to foot, waiting to see if the other will throw the first punch. 

\--

"Good." He murmured, watching each of the people fall into sparring, his own thoughts dropping to the back as he started analyzing. It easy this sort of thing that always grounded him, always showed that he was doing something positive for his body; everyone in Stark's tower did. Sparring was a way to team build and constantly improve and right now, in in a body he didn't know, the urge to test his strength was strong. "How 'bout you? You ever have have a go?"

\--

"Why? You wanna take a swing?" Edgar said, squaring his shoulders. 

\--

Steve looked at the people a moment and then focused on Edgar. "Maybe. Gotta test this body out somehow, huh?"

\--

Edgar made a show of rolling his shoulder as he stepped back to face Steve fully. "Arright." He motioned for Steve to come at him. "Gimme your best shot."

\--

Which. Right. Of course the little punk would be so forward as to just start asking for punches. Of course, not like he couldn't say anything about that; it'd make him a giant hypocrite. And this body was close enough to his for comfort, just adding in such drawbacks as hunger and an intense need for... About ten thousand fucking things. Or something. 

"I dunno who's got the bulge here, buddy, so let's find out." Steve tensed, setting his feet in a defensive manner. He wasn't used to throwing the first punches, anymore. Not that he ever really did, even when he was smaller. He'd wait for the other guy to start and throw him on the defense after a while. He set back his shoulders, cocking his head.

\--

Edgar stopped bouncing from foot to foot to SQUINT at Steve. "What that fuck--you know what. Nevermind." And he stepped back, cocked back his arm, then threw a punch at Steve's bristled jaw. 

\--

So. It seemed this body was slightly slower than the other because, as much as he tried to duck out of the way, Edgar's fist still managed to brush against his jaw, causing him to grunt. He swung back upwards and twisted his own fist around, trying at the moment, to simply gauge the reflexes and speed and power behind the body rather than seriously attack or defend.

\--

Edgar tried to push himself closer, ducking and pushing at Steve's swings until he got a grip on his shoulder and tried aiming a punch to his gut. 

Anytime Curtis picked a sparring partner, it drew attention, and this fight was no different. Several of the soldiers waiting for their turn on the floor began murmuring about it, a few already drawing closer to watch. 

\--

Steve fell quickly into the spar, the forced neutral expression falling off his face as occasional smirks or even grins danced across his lips whenever he ducked one of Edgar's hits or managed to move in closer. Besides being a bit shaky and slightly more wiry, rather than brutish than his old body, it still worked nicely. He felt quicker, like this, like his dance didn't have to be so defensive and he could slip between. Well, could if Edgar wasn't such an oily little bastard. 

The coat wasn't fucking helping, though, he'd say. He dropped it off his shoulders after a few moments to give himself some more room, swinging his whole body in the motion to wrap around his leg into quick side-kick. He, for one, didn't notice anyone else. His world narrowed down to the feel of this dance.

\--

Steve certainly didn't fight like Curtis--he had finesse the other man couldn't dream of for one thing. Where Curtis barreled forward, fast and violent, forcing Edgar to crowd back and take the defensive, Steve moved fluidly and seemed to be actively reading Edgar, choosing when and where to strike or dodge. The difference in style was made all the more stark when contrasted to Edgar himself, who didn't think or plan, just threw his fists out and was just good enough at keeping his balance to duck and double back when he needed to. 

It made for a hell of a show. Most everyone in the car was watching now, the other fights taking up the floor coming to a standstill so the opponents could join the circle of onlookers. 

The coat thing took Edgar by surprise--he'd let his guard down when he saw Steve starting to shrug it off, and wasn't expecting the kick that came at him hard and fast from the side. He swore, staggered in the direction the kick had sent him and raised his arms to block whatever came next. 

\--

Steve saw him take the defense and stepped back, steadying his breathing with with a huff of breath. No use go after a solid wall of inaction. He gave a smirk, tilting his head. "You're scrappy." 

\--

"Shuh'up," Edgar said, rubbing his side. A few of the onlookers laughed. Someone to the right of Steve said, "kick his ass, Curtis!" and someone else added, "kick him ON the ass!" 

\--

Steve glanced around for the first time, raising eyebrows at everyone that was watching. It was absolutely like that movie that Nat showed him, with Brad Pitt. He focused back on Edgar after after a moment, cocking his head before suddenly lunging forward, aiming a quick jab for the nerve filled area between the shoulders. 

\--

Edgar dropped rather than try and twist away, and then threw himself around Steve's waist, aiming for a kidney shot while he was there.

\--

Steve wheezed out out a short breath at the impact, not used to jabs and punches effecting him so much (well, lately), reaching to try and pry him off, lifting lifting a knee to jab Edgar wherever he could get purchase, nails digging into his shoulders. 

\--

Edgar tried to move with that leg, but still felt most of the impact. He let go of Steve's waist to push the leg away, and then push away from him all together. The crowd was starting to get a little more involved, some members shouting suggestions or insults--mostly aimed at Edgar. One such insult drew Edgar's attention off Steve completely, the kid turning to flip the speaker the bird in reply.

\--

"Idiot." Steve muttered, even as he danced forward, sweeping out a leg at the back of Edgars kneecaps.

\--

Edgar gave a squawk and stumbled. To his credit, the second he was bracing his hands on the ground, he was kicking back Steve's way, aiming for ankles. 

\--

Steve managed to skip mostly out of the way, but wasn't as fast normal and stumbled from a a clip, scowling. "Good, " he breathed. He used the momentum from jumping backwards to turn and aim a side kick to his ass, fists back up and ready. 

\--

Edgar was too slow, and got the side of Steve's foot right across one ass cheek. Most of their crowd cheered. Edgar staggered to his feet, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, just visible beneath the layer of grime. 

After putting some distance between them, Edgar raised his fists too, saying "you and me, mate, you and me," as he leveled Steve with a glare.

\--

"Hey, if you're quick enough, " Steve said, cocking his head and hiding a smirk, rolling his shoulders, "You can kick my ass too."

\--

"I'm gonna!" said Edgar. "Just you fuckin' wait." 

At this point, people were starting to make bets. 

Edgar bounced from foot to foot, moving towards Steve and then away, towards and away until he finally closed the distance, faked right, then swung another gut shot from the left.

\--

Steve watched him do his little dance, saying, "That's a waste of energy!" Befire having to all but skitter away at the gut shot, cursing violently before starting to throw more of his own punches and jabs, continously moving, deciding to just shut up and stop critiquing.

\--

Edgar's lips curled into a smirk when he took Steve by surprise. Sure, he didn't land a hit, but he got him to shut up and to stop looking so fucking smug, so it still counted as a win. 

They went back and forth for a while, Edgar swatting at the blows sent his way that he couldn't dodge completely, putting his weight behind whatever punches he threw at Steve. Finally, he got in close enough to grab the man's shirt front and he yanked him to the side, trying to throw him off balance, kicking at the nearest ankle at the same time.

\--

And that, Steve mused, was why the men in that stupid movie wore no shirts. He stumbled and dropped down into a crouch, managing to wrap wrap hand around Edgars incoming foot, pulling him with the momentum he already had.

\--

Steve's grapple completely ruined Edgar's sense of balance and he tumbled over him onto the floor, onto his side. He kicked at Steve, not so much aiming as trying to put some distance between them while he was prone on the fucking floor.

\--

Steve sidestepped the kick easily, now that there wasn't any momentum behind it, and rise from his crouch, wincing slightly from the jab at the kidneys and holding out a hand to Edgar. "Okay. I think I've got the body down." He said quietly, quirking a brow, breathing more heavily than he normally would.

\--

Edgar rubbed at his knee a little before taking Steve's hand and pulling himself to his feet. There were unhappy murmurs over the fight apparently being done but Edgar had started sweating through his shirt and definitely needed a little room to breathe. 

"Y'seem t'know whatcher doin'," he said, voice lowered for only Steve to hear. "Like. Seriously."

\--

"Well, apprehending terrorists tends to do that." Steve said carefully, giving him a short smile. "You can take care of yourself, at least."

\--

"Bullshit, 'ap-re-hend-ing' terrorists," Edgar said, giving Steve a shove. 

\--

Steve cocked his head, slipping the knit cap off to swipe it at his brow, giving another light smirk. "Well, not anymore, evidently."

\--

"Would y'stop making up shit--hey!" Edgar turned and shooed the remains of their audience--some had gone back to their drills but others still lingered for whatever reason. "Show's over," Edgar said, "Go do some work of your own why don't you."

\--

"Whatever, don't believe me." Steve said as he scanned the crowd, raising an eyebrow at whoever lingered and fixing them with a look. 

\--

Edgar snorted at the look Steve was leveling at people and shook his head. It wasn't too far off from what Curits would've done...

He glanced back at the mouth of the car and noticed Grey lingering by the end of the bunks. He headed to him immediately--Grey being away from Gilliam could mean the old codger needed something. "Hey, man," he said. 

Grey gave a little nod then pulled the collar of his coat back and pointed at the word 'fight' right under his collarbone. The he pointed to Steve. 

Edgar's eyebrows shot up. "You wanna fight him?" 

\--

Steve blinked at Grey, cocking his head slightly at the tattoos that marred his skin in contemplation. Well, it certainly made sense if the kid couldn't speak worth a word. Which. "Sure. Give me a second." He turned and padded back over to where he had dropped the threadbare coat, dropping the hat and slowly stripping off his shirt as well, grimacing at the sticky cling of sweat to his torso. 

No use making the clothes even dirtier, plus... Grey looked a little more capable than Edgar was. Steve glanced down at his body, happy that it was toned and muscular as much as it could be with so much hunger in the pit of his being, then nodded at Grey, quirking a brow up. 

\--

Grey's eyes sharpened, a small smile pulling at his lips as he shrugged off his own coat and crossed to face Steve. As he shook out his limbs, Edgar walked back to Steve's side and said in a stage whisper, "You're about to get your shit kicked in."

\--

Well. 

"Good." Steve said, winking at Edgar. "Maybe it'll be a challenge, this time." He rolled his shoulders again, twisting his back to get out the kinks- and being careful to avoid the spot that Edgar had kicked near the back- blinking at Grey.

\--

"Oh, you assho--GREY," Edgar crossed to the other side of the car, to stand in Grey's 'courner'. "Kick his ass."

The crowd was already reforming. Grey continued to watch Steve, waiting for his go-ahead.

\--

Steve snorted. If he could ignore the atmosphere and all the strangers, it could be like any day of sparring in the Avengers Tower. Clint or Tony pouting because of some loss and then Natasha stepping up and beating him down. Bucky being careful and hesitant but full of awareness, dancing and circling and fitting between the air like he was smoke. 

He swallowed. No use thinking about the specifics. Just had to let the musical wash over him, to pay attention to the movement of Grey's body. Scrubbing a hand through the short hair, he cocked his head, then leaped forward, trying on the offense this time with a solid punch. Just to get it started. This one sounded like it might get a little more bloodier.

\--

Grey slid around Steve in one fluid movement, fitted his arms under Steve's pits and up, locking his hands behind the man's head.

Edgar groaned. "Grey, c'mon, with that. At least knock him around a bit first, Jesus." 

\--

Holy fuck, the kid knew what he was doing. Putting him through a fucking Nelson in one swell swoop? Well, seemed that Steve Rogers had underestimated him. To prevent himself from stumbling or from killing his fucking neck, he raised his arms, attempting to drop down and out of the hold. If he had enough leverage, he would have tried to pull his legs out for some sort of sweep, but he still hadn't pinned the man down. Best to take things slower, if a little rough.

\--

Grey let him go and backpedaled until there was plenty of space between them. His arms were out, body hunched as he balanced his weight on the balls of his feet. He was smiling. 

\--

Steve slowed his breathing, schooling his muscles into false relaxation. He couldn't just fuck around like he did last time, letting himself test the body. He would actually have to work this one. Quirking an eyebrow at the kid, he jumped forward, feigning a punch to the left and drawing an undercut from the left, working his way to get closer and closer, closer than fists. 

\--

Grey countered his steps and when Steve began getting close, he dropped and hooked a leg around the man's knee, trying to drop him.

\--

Oh, but Steve fell. It was a quick move, that one. He was growing a respect for the quiet kid already. He fell and immediately rolled, ignoring the pain behind his knees, kicking his way back up into a crouched standing position, deciding to take it back a notch. Steve, after all, didn't do offense. 

\--

Several cheers rang out when Grey knocked Steve to the floor, one of them most certainly from Edgar. Grey swung to his feet and once again made space between them. He was still loose-limbed and fresh, his smile having turned into more of a grin. 

Though Grey and Edgar had yet to notice, Gilliam was being carted their way, apparently come to watch from the wings.

\--

At Grey's facial expression, Steve chuckled, even if it sounded breathless. Damn, but he really wasn't used to getting tired after so little exertion. It was no matter, though. He rolled his neck, popped his elbows and cocked his head, evening his breathing. "I'm real curious as to where you learned how to fight like this." He said, giving another grin. 

Well. Looked like he wasn't going to be able to do flips and acrobatic shit like he normally could, but whatever. He made a small motion- Grey let him go first last time, return the favor, eh?- jumping up slightly on his feet to maintain fluidity. 

\--

 

Murmurs of confusion rippled through the gathered Tail sectioners. Edgar scrunched up his face, dragged a hand through his hair. Fucking stupid, Steve. Fucking stupid. 

Grey's smile fell away, replaced with a look of concern and confusion. He straightened, obviously trying to make sense of that comment before he continued. Sure, Grey had been nearby for Steve's conversations with Edgar and Gilliam, but he didn't eavesdrop. He did as he was told, and Not Listening to conversations that didn't involve him was something he'd repeatedly been told, starting all the way back when he first became Gilliam's aid and guard. He had it down to something of an art--tuning out people's conversations while staying alert to where everyone was, ear tuned to when he may get instructions. 

He wasn't the only Tail sectioner who did that, either. Actively ignoring what was being said around you was about the only form of privacy they could give one another. 

People did not ignore Curtis, though, and from the outside looking in, Curtis had just said something impossible. 

\--

Shit. Steve took in the change in Grey's stance, the murmuring behind him, and mentally cursed himself. He thought he'd been quiet, thought Grey had _been_ there. Evidently he'd just Fucked Up, big time, though. Great. Maybe he'd just gotten so used to his own hearing that he'd forgotten to adjust for Curtis' normal ranges.

There was no getting out of that one. "Doesn't matter." He waved it off, dropping his fists slightly, loosening his stance up. 

\--

"Grey," said Edgar, who'd finally thought of something to say, "he's obviously just jokin', would you just kick his ass already?"

It was the most graceful cover, but Grey did trust Edgar and Curtis and--Gilliam was there, he noticed. Gilliam met Grey's eyes, motioned for him to continue. Grey nodded, returned his focus to Steve and shook his limbs loose again.

\--

Steve flicked grateful eyes at Edgar, trying to push apology in there as well, not quite sure if he managed it. Who knew, with this foreign yet familiar body. "Right." He muttered, focusing back on Grey. He scrubbed through his hair and rolled his shoulders once more, breathing deeply.

\--

Edgar glared back, pouty and annoyed that he was having to clean up after Steve's stupid mistakes. Most of this was to cover his fear, because he wasn't looking forward to if--probably _when_ \--the rest of the Tail found out that Curtis was _away._

Grey focused on Curtis for a few moments longer, holding his eyes and gauging his readiness until he was sure the other man was prepared. Then Grey rushed him, kicked off the ground, then off Steve's shoulders to reach the bars crisscrossing over the ceiling of the train car. He spun hand over hand, intending to drop himself on Steve's shoulders.

\--

Shit, but the kid was like a particularly nimble acrobat. Steve would have been utterly, completely incapacitated if not for the fact that he'd pretty sure Clint's tried the same exact shit on him before. Instead of ducking away, he reached his arms up and attempted to pull the man down on his shoulders with brute force, not exactly sure if that was the best to do with someone that was, admittedly, taller and wilier than Clint, but trying nonetheless.

\--

Rather than try and pull from Steve's grip, Grey locked his legs and bent with him and took those hands grabbing at him and dug his fingers into the sensitive triangle of nerves between Steve's thumb and first finger. 

\--

Steve gritted his teeth at the pressure, releasing for just a moment before digging his fingers into Grey's thighs, jabbing his arms up higher to try and rip Grey from his shoulders and onto the ground, up and over his head. Okay, yeah, a bit different than Clint, and the kid was utilizing his fucking _hands._

\--

With his grip on Steve's arms, Grey fell from his shoulders, head over foot, landing with the soles of his feet firmly on the ground, chest up, back to the floor. Then he twisted, flipped one foot over the other, arms crossing as he reoriented himself, bringing him back to facing Steve. And he took Steve's hands and twisted them back, to break his hold. 

\--

Steve cringed back, relinquishing his hold, but he didn't jump back so much as just get himself free, before he was all but leaping forwards again, giving a series of blows.

\--

Taking advantage of Steve's wider stance, Grey slipped between his legs and then tried to knock those legs out from under the man with a sweeping kick.

\--

Okay, so Steve was going to mentally blame the new body for falling. Because he did. Fall, that is. Landed right on his lower lumbar region, too, and he could almost hear the pop. And he never would have done that if he was in his normal body. At least, he hoped so. But everything was off, and sure, this wasn't the one-off beatings he received back in Brooklyn, and he was holding his own, at least, but this wasn't as easy as it normally was. All of his senses were dulled, _everything,_ on top of being a malnourished, starving man in a new surrounding. 

So yes. He was safely going to blame this on the body if Bucky or Nat every asked him.

In his head, of course, he was just telling himself that maybe this was good for him. A proper defeat. Because the fact that this kid was already dropping him to the ground was hitting perilously close to rather unhealthy thoughts. 

Fuck, his back was hurting. He wondered if Curtis kept himself hydrated enough, too, suddenly. He scowled, curling his body inwards to prepare to kick his way back up to standing, wincing as that movement was sending signs of 'don't fucking do that, Steve Rogers, you will kill your back' and curling to the side instead, shifting his weight to his ass with his legs cocked at the knees in mild defense.

\--

The crowd roared--it'd grown since the start of the second spar, older faces standing on the edges, women--a portion of it chanting Grey's name. He didn't continue attacking, instead came around to offer Steve a hand up. 

"Nah, man, kick him on the ass first!" shouted Edgar. "Kick his ass!" 

Grey did no such thing because Grey was a polite young man, unlike Edgar.

\--

"Thanks." Steve said, grabbing onto Grey's hand and slowly lifting himself up, wincing slightly at another pop in his back. At least this one seemed to right things a little, but it was still excruciating. He almost asked a few questions, but caught himself quickly, instead scratching at his scalp again. "Good fight. Kind of. Didn't really get much in." He quirked one lip up, regarding Grey with an impressed look.

\--

Grey squeezed Steve's hand and gave him a good natured smirk. Then he gestured to a phrase on his shoulder; "good try."

\--

Steve gave a huff of a laugh, letting it form in a small chuckle at the tattoo. Knowing that _Curtis_ had probably seen the damn thing before, he swiped a hand down his face, raising his eyebrows. Better think of _something._ "Still can't believe you got that inked."

\--

Grey had about a split second to squint at Steve before Edgar threw an arm around the other teen's shoulders and turned him away. "Man, you have got to teach me how to do that. Just. All'a that." Ducking his head behind Grey's, where his expression wouldn't be seen, Edgar shot Steve a _deadly_ glare, before turning back around to address the crowd. "Arright, show's over! Get back t'work!"

The crowd began dispersing and Edgar walked Grey back over to Gilliam, who gave the darker boy's arm a pat and croaked out a few choice words of praise. Edgar returned to Steve's side with a very fake smile plastered across his face.

\--

 

Steve ignored Edgar point-blank for the moment, twisting his back before moving over to the discarded clothes and slipping the shirt back on, draping the coat over his arm and slipping the hat on. He'd put the coat on later, when he wasn't so fucking sweaty. Huffing out a breath, he stepped back near Edgar, keeping his face neutral. "Sorry." He said out of the side of his mouth. "I don't- I can't just keep _silent._ "

\--

"Oooh, but you should," Edgar said. "Especially if _that's_ your idea of small talk." His voice pitched lower, even though the fighting off to their side was more than loud enough to mask his words. "Think about it, just for a second; there's five hundred of us, we've only got six cars, including this one, and it’s been _seventeen years. Think;_ would you _not know something? _Anything?_ About _anyone?"__

_\--_

Steve ticked his jaw, swallowing down the rise of nausea. To be told off by someone at least ten years younger than him, who was practically a kid... It was truthfully embarrassing, not to mention dredging up some rather bad emotions. He was so used to playing leader back home, that he had started to forget, finally, being the small kid. The one who was alone and lost in the world and couldn't do anything worth a damn (oh, though he tried). 

"To be fair, I didn't say I didn't know about the kid's tattoos." Steve said, still a bit too stubborn to just bare his neck and take Edgar's ribbing. Oh, he knew very well the man was in charge of him right now, and good thing. He needed a guide if he was to be able to pass of as Curtis. Which. Obviously he was failing. 

_\--_

"No, y'just implied you didn't know why the fuck he'd _get_ them," Edgar hissed. "I don't know if you've noticed, but Grey doesn't fucking _talk."_

_\--_

"I got that- It was a... It was a joke. Forget it." Steve muttered, sliding his eyes down to the ground for a moment, rubbing his hand against his mouth. Damn, he'd been standing for not even five minutes of a cool-down and was already starting to get cold. 

_\--_

"Y'could just be quiet, y'know," Edgar said. "He--you get like that sometimes. Just try to look like yer in your head some and no one'll expect much." 

_\--_

"Fine." Steve snapped, shrugging on the coat and scowling at Edgar for a second, before promptly going silent. 

_\--_

"Fine," Edgar parroted back. Then he turned and started actually paying attention to the drills. At the front of the car, down by the door the only opened from the outside, one of the younger teens was trying to mimic Grey's gymnastics, but all he managed to do was kick his partner in the throat and then fall on his own ass. The fights nearby broke up momentarily so they could laugh at the boys expense and then help him back on his feet. 

_\--_

Steve blinked and nodded, slowly working on getting himself completely calmed from the fight, trying to push away anything that wasn't relevant to what was going on. He rolled his shoulders once more, blinking in the direction of Edgar's gaze and clucking on his tongue at the display of juvenile carelessness. 

_\--_

"The fuck're you doin'?!" Edgar shouted at them, "lotta help you'll be, you break yer fucking neck!" It wasn't something he'd usually do, but a part of him thought Curtis would've said something, so as his second, Edgar was obligated to say something. 

_\--_

Steve watched the teens with almost a glare in his eyes, agreeing with Edgar's assessment, but he was true to his word and would try to be a bit quieter, if only so he didn't slip up so often. 

_\--_

"Fuckin' morons," Edgar spat. 

_\--_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be perfectly honest and say that I got too lazy and pissed off at the formatting to add in any of the italics that the story actually has. Really wish google docs wasn't a bullshit piece of shit and actually accepted the formatting of other sites.


	5. Tower III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looney Tunes and Brawls. What a perfect combination.... Right?

Bucky gave a soft hum, blinking some more haze out of his eyes as he concentrated on the hand in front of him, and of _course_ now would be the time to be the freaking out about how it was Steve but it wasn't, wasn't the person he'd died trying to help. He attempted to push those thoughts away, but they pressed back stubbornly, hitting walls in his mind with the other non thoughts. It was terrifying that his brain's first response to panic was to dredge up whatever remainders of Their programming to the forefront of his mind. 

He really didn't want to scare Curtis when he was like this, but but it was so much easier to just... leave... and hope that he knew what he was doing. It was easier and safer to just go with the pliancy of most of his programing than risk lashing out at the unknown. So he did, zoning out more, retreating to the back of his head. It wasn't fair and he'd feel guilty later, but for now, it seemed his best option. 

\--

And there he went. Oh, Barnes. You deserved better. 

Curtis tried to take his hand, wanting to guide him back to his own floor, where he could at least recover in private. The hold was gentle and loose and Curtis expected he'd have to take his hand back, that Barnes may even react violently. 

\--

Bucky's face twitched at the hold but he didn't Jerk back or anything of the sort, merely went where Curtis pulled him. Distantly, he knew this was very much not good, that he'd gone an entire week and a half without an end sort of break and this one was kind of bad, but it hardly hit his consciousness. 

\--

Curtis led him to the stairwell and started towards the floor Bucky shared with Cap. He made it a few flights before finally accepting he didn't actually remember which floor that was. 

"...Jarvis?" he asked, a little hesitantly. He wasn't sure if he'd be heard, but he thought maybe he might, hoped that he might. Otherwise he'd have to start poking his head through doors and hope he didn't see anything he wasn't meant to.

\--

 _"One more flight, sir."_ Jarvis' voice floated up, and for an AI, it sounded both vaguely amused and concerned.

\--

"Thanks," Curtis said, mostly on reflex, and guided Barnes that one more floor, led him inside and urged him onto one of the couches. Then he stood there, for a moment, scratching at his scalp, trying to think of something else to do. 

What was he like when he got like this? Well, okay, he didn't like anyone pointing out he'd been gone. He didn't like people apologizing for shit that wasn't their fault--aka how fucked up he was. It always helped to come back and be at Gilliam's, but when it happened and he just. Stayed in his bunk through it, he tended to spend a good while readjusting while listening to the conversations around him. Shit he wasn't expecting to engage in, but he could still understand. The conversations drew him out of himself and helped keep him present as he regained control and settled back into his own body. 

The couch was right across from a large TV. DVDs and BluRays were scattered and stacked near the player and Curtis started picking through them, trying to find something innocuous, something with a lot of talking. He was a little surprised to find so many Disney movies and Looney Toon compilations in the pile, but they'd probably go over better than the two shitty romcoms he'd found. He settled on putting in a disc of the latter--more talking, less heavy stuff, and fumbled the TV set on. He turned the volume down to wear shit was still understandable, just on the quiet side, used the remote to select 'play all' from the menu and then just. Sat there. Felt a little exhausted from all that bullshit, shit that might not even _work._ And getting up would just mean going back to the couch to sit by Barnes and wait for him to get it together and...well, he wasn't really looking forward to that. So Curtis lingered, sitting on his haunches, as the first two or three shorts played. 

\--

As soon as Bucky realized that Curtis wanted him on the couch, he slinks into the smallest corner possible, drawing his knees up to his chest and laying his chin over them, looking blankly into space. He was vaguely aware of Curtis moving around and hoped to god he wouldn't leave him; he may need space at the moment but he also needed comfort in the form of a person, whether or not that person is a stranger.

If he weren't so numb at the moment, he'd try to examine why he already trusted Curtis so much.

He picked up the drone of cartoons in the background but ignored it for a good ten minutes, gaze unfocused, just cataloging that it wasn't a threat to him or Curtis and that he could continue to just. Stare.

\--

Eventually Curtis realized he was lingering, hunched right in front of the TV like a fucking child watching saturday morning cartoons, and he got up to sit by Barnes on the couch. There was still a good distance between them, a body and a half maybe, and he didn't make any move to touch him or nothing, but he stayed.

\--

Bucky huffed when he heard Curtis sit next to him, and uncoiled himself just slightly, arms wrapped around his knees relaxing just just a little. He flicked his gaze over to the TV, knowing that staring at nothing would be unsettling, blinking slowly.

\--

Huh. That was a good sign. Curtis relaxed some himself, relieved he'd made the right call.

\--

After another ten minutes, Bucky straightened his legs out, maneuvering himself so that he was laying on his side on the couch, feet kicked out. They were still bent slightly so he wouldn't bother Curtis, but his gaze at least, was a little more present, a little more _there_ as he started to pay attention to the television screen.

\--

Curtis ended up paying more attention to Barnes than the cartoons. He honestly didn't want to fall into the familiarity, didn't want to get lost, too, just as one of them was coming back. He tuned them out and glanced, now and then, at the man beside him, taking stock.

\--

"'M fine." Bucky said after a while, scrubbing his flesh hand over his eyes. "Jus'... It gets to be a lot. In my head." He didn't shift himself anymore, didn't look over at Curtis, continued to stare at the TV.

\--

"Know what that's like," Curtis said. "You sure do have a lotta cartoons."

\--

Bucky huffed out a laugh, raising a shoulder slowly. "Some of them I knew. They're comfortable." He gave a short little coughing noise, blinking. "They're short. Don't have the best attention span, sometimes."

\--

Curtis hummed, glanced back at the screen for a moment. Duck Season, Rabbit Season, Duck Season--

"Didn't know they were that old," he said

\--

"Yeah. All the way back in the 30's." Bucky said, mouth twitching up at the television screen. He peered over at Curtis finally, scrubbing at his eyes again. "You never seen the wartime ones?"

\--

Curtis considered that for a moment. "Is that the one where Donald Duck is is a Nazi?" He remembers getting linked to that once. That 'banned' cartoon.

\--

"Probably. I don't remember the specifics. " he sniffed, shrugging. "We skipped the war ones for a lot of reasons."

\--

Curtis nodded. "I think that's the only one I know of," he said, itched lightly at the back of his neck. 

\--

"To be fair, I don't know many of the war ones either, considering I was, um, there." Bucky slowly sat up, rotating his neck on his shoulders. 

\--

Curtis gave a little shrug then turned back to the screen interest and recognition bleeding into his expression as he placed the music, the images. The barber of seville. Something like joy coiled in his chest. He'd...really liked this one as a kid. 

Curtis caught himself before he fell too far, sat back, made himself focus on the corners of the tv cabinet, the toe of one boot.

\--

Bucky paid attention to the TV for a few minutes, glancing over at Curtis and frowning, scooting closer to poke at his shoulder with a soft set of fingers. "Hey, don't space out of your head. They're just cartoons." He frowned, eyes flicking to the colorful images on the television set for a moment before going back to Curtis' face.

\--

"I'm here," Curtis said, and left it at that. He glanced over Barnes face for a moment, gauged how he was doing, then looked back at the screen. Bugs was massaging Elmer's head with his toes. He bit at his thumbnail.

\--

"If you say so." Bucky replied, blinking slowly and popping the metal hand again, a nervous tick he'd picked up months ago. He wondered if he used to do it, during the seventy years he was... This... but washed it away with mental waves, deciding it was unimportant. Besides. Of course he didn't. He didn't do anything that didn't have an explicit purpose, before. He looked over at Curtis for a few more moments, cocking his head slightly to the side.

\--

Curtis' attention was drawn towards the sound--Oh, just Barnes' prosthesis. And Barnes was watching him again. Curtis grappled for something to say, settled on, "you seen this one before?" and gestured vaguely at the screen. 

\--

Bucky frowned, moving his head to look at the cartoon for a bit, cocking his head to the side like a particularly curious dog. "I don't know." He said eventually, narrowing his eyes. "Maybe." Watching for a little bit, he realized that the cartoon must have dated to far past the war, must have been the fifties, even. Which. Was rather worrying, since the cartoon was familiar. 

It was familiar, and maybe he could only remember portions because he hadn't been in the right mind to watch it the last time. Because... He'd been strapped down to a chair with crooning Russian filtering through his ears and he could only pay attention to the point of making sure it wasn't a threat to his handlers, because his handlers needed safety.

"Shit, they gotta ruin everything." He muttered, and he really was pleased that the thought and sudden influx of memories didn't spiral him down into blankness again. Was glad he could talk about _them_ without having to leave or else grow red with rage or sick with horror.

\--

Well, the question had done just what he'd wanted it to; it'd given him something else to watch and think about. Primarily try to figure out what Barnes just remembered, and if Curtis should maybe switch to the next cartoon. 

"Do I want to know?" he asked.

\--

Bucky sniffed, twisting his lips together. "Uh, probably not." He blinked at the screen, shrugging. He was quiet for a beat, then said, "Back when I was owned by the Russians. They liked to, uh, tease. Show the dog human entertainment." 

\--

Curtis frowned, distaste evident and, well, a little personal. He wouldn't say his situation was ever the same as Bucky's, but he certainly Understands more than most would, to have others consider you little more than an animal. 

Still holding the remote, he considered just turning the cartoon off right there, then thought better of it and leaned forward to offer it to Barnes. Let him decide what to do. Action, when stuck remembering inaction, had always helped Curtis in the past.

\--

Bucky flicked his gaze from the TV to the remote, then up to Curtis' face, cocking his head slightly. After a few moments, he shrugged, placing his palm over the remote and Curtis' hand, shaking his head. "No. Can't always ignore the bad things, huh?" He twisted and flapped a hand at the television screen, the colorful cartoons flashing in his eyes. "Leas' that's what Sam says. Besides. If I can't watch Looney Tunes without quivering like a child, I'm counting that as a relapse."

\--

A choice is still a choice, and that's all Curtis wanted to give him. He nodded, shifting back to how he was, hand dropping to the couch. 

\--

Bucky continued to watch for the rest of the short, then sniffed, sprawling himself out on the couch and encroaching dangerously into Curtis' space, evidently trying to use the entire couch for his purposes. "See, it's not like me and Stevie could just sit around and watch these all day, 'cause we didn't have a television. No one did, y'know? Dunno when everyone started having them. But we caught them sometimes. Theaters, when we had money."

\--

Curtis spared a passing glance down at Bucky's feet, ever growing nearer, and one corner of his mouth turned up ever so subtly. This was good; Barnes was loosening up and seemed comfortable enough with Curtis to invade his personal space, which in turn put Curtis at ease. Familiarity of any kind helped ground him. 

He wasn't sure if Barnes was just putting on that accent or if he really did get that Brooklyn when he was comfortable. Maybe it was just the shift that made it so jarring. 

"They showed these in theaters?" Curtis asked, in part to encourage Bucky to keep going, in part to make sure Curtis was following along. He sounded a little incredulous, and he was, because he couldn't imagine _paying_ to see little a eight to fifteen minute short and then have to leave again.

\--

"Uh, sometimes. Sometimes they'd show 'em before a film. Well, usually those weren't big-picture names like _Looney Tunes_ , but yeah. Sometimes." He lifted his head off the arm of the couch, twisting his head to look at Curtis, looking faintly amused. "I, uh... About a month ago, we found one of those fancy dinner theaters and they showed a _Disney_ cartoon before the film, and I was... I forgot how much I always loved that, yeah? Most of 'em don't do that shit anymore."

Bucky clucked his tongue, drawing his knees in to fling off his boots, not caring where they landed (honestly, the floor would be trashed and filthy if it weren't for... Well, Bucky assumed Tony had it cleaned) and stretching out again, throwing his head back down on the arm of the couch.

\--

"Yeah, they really don't," Curtis answered, scratching at his scalp absently. "Didn't know that was ever a thing." For him, there had only ever been the previews, and he'd always tried to time it to where he'd missed those. It'd driven his mom nuts...

His mom, she'd always liked to be on time.

\--

Bucky nodded, giving a shrug and a half-smile. "Well, they were." He sat up slowly, then practically rolled off the couch, twisting and standing at the last minute like a goddamned cat. He started to move into the kitchen, calling out, "If you ain't gonna drink your crappy sugary coffee, I will."

\--

Barnes' little show of, what, agility? Flexibility? Was mildly impressive, though all it really did was remind Curtis of Grey. It'd been hard to keep that kid's feet on the ground most days, even after he'd fallen and dislocated his shoulder. He probably had no reason to worry about Grey; he wasn't Edgar, he knew how to stay out of trouble. And there was no one Curtis trusted more to look after Gilliam. He hoped everyone was alright.

"Please," Curtis said, watching Barnes over the back of the couch, "be my guest."

\--

Bucky snorted, all but leaping for the coffee and making an obnoxious noise as soon as the liquid hit his mouth, grinning wildly. "It's sugary as _fuck_." He complained, even as he started to suck more down coming back to sit at the couch. He gave Curtis a look of incredulousness, scrunching his nose. "Why'd you get _this_ one?"

\--

"I dunno, man," Curtis said, swinging his arm over the couch to make his position more comfortable. "I made the mistake of letting his asshole order it for me--you should blame him."

\--

Bucky collapsed on the couch heavily, careful not to spill his drink. Over-sugary and sweet but coffee nonetheless. He flicked Curtis off casually once he was settled, blinking. "Said asshole was being nice, to be fair. I'm not nice all that often so this," He gestured to the coffee he was sipping on enthusiastically between words, "Is an insult. I'm offended. I'd be more offended if not for the caffeine." His whole body gave a little shiver and he grinned, sprawling himself across the seats. "Of all the drugs, and they never chose to give me caffeine."

\--

Curtis snorted at the gesture, scratched at his beardless cheek with his own middle finger as he said, "after seventeen years, I'm a little afraid to see what my body would _do_ with caffeine."

\--

"All the more reason to try, my friend." Bucky said diplomatically, holding the cup out towards him, straw almost jabbing him in the face. Evidently, at the prospect of caffeine, Sergeant Barnes becomes more and more comfortable.

\--

Curtis' smile was quiet and small and all the more genuine for it. He took in a breath, shook his head, and relieved Barnes of the cup. The smell of it was strong, and there was something about it, some quality, that made him certain it was cold. The remembered smell of _cold_ coffee, under a layer of sweet syrup. 

He took a sip from the straw and his body immediately rejected such a strong taste, forcing him into a cough. He covered his mouth with his free hand and set the cup on the coffee table while he got a hold of himself. "Jesus."

\--  
Bucky snorted, throwing his head back as he laughed because yes, that had been his exact reaction a few months ago and seeing him react to it with such a strong behavior was fucking _hilarious_. "It's more your taste-buds than Jesus, y'know." He said, giving Curtis a shit-eating grin.

\--

"Why--" he coughed, wiped his mouth, cleared his throat and tried again, "Why do I get the feeling you knew that would happen?" Curtis' eyebrows were drawn down, but there was only amusement in his eyes. He didn't mind the teasing. He liked the sound of Bucky's laugh.

\--

"'Cause I did the same thing when I was forced to drinking an overly sweet coffee. To be fair, it was more sad than funny in my case... But still." Bucky grinned at him, grabbing the coffee off the table and taking another drink. "I am fond of sugar, now."

\--

"That's something at least," Curtis said lightly. Now that he mentioned it...it'd just been a taste, but his mouth, his body, it _wanted_ more sugar. The hunger brought up memories of the muffin, earlier, what felt like so long ago, but was just a few hours. He watched the cup, the straw, Barnes, as he took a sip. It'd be gone soon, if he didn't do something about it. 

He didn't do something about it. 

\--

Bucky grinned, giving another amused chuckle as he handed the cup over, taking in the look Curtis kept shooting the damned coffee. He smacked his lips together, nodding. "It's shit. But it's _good_ shit."

\--

Of course he noticed. Curtis sighed lightly through his nose before he took the cup back and tried another sip. He had just about as much success as last time, couldn't get down much, but that _need_ was sated for just a second, and it felt _good._

And then it came back, hungrier, and he passed the cup back. "Too sweet for me," he lied. Turned his head away and scratched at his hairline.

\--

Bucky narrowed his eyes but shrugged, taking the cup back and taking another sip, before he sat it down between them, pretending to have forgotten about it. He did forget things like that a lot, the small things that didn't seem to be worth all that much time, but for now, he was actually very aware of the cup and wanted Curtis to just enjoy himself, dammit.

\--

He gave the cup one glance before he moved it to the coffee table. "Hey," he said, before Bucky could say otherwise, "I'm not some ex-assassin with crazy reflexes--I would've knocked that over at some point, and this is a nice couch."

\--

Bucky blinked down at the coffee shrugging slightly. "I was finished with it and got distracted." He said, turning his gaze back to the television before back to Curtis, smiling slightly. "Just drink the damn coffee. It's not going to kill you. Even with two shots of espresso."

\--

"Thanks, but, I don't want the sugar," Curtis said, much closer to the truth this time.

\--

Bucky looked over at him and then rolled his eyes, shrugging. "Whatever. I get it. It's stupid, but I get it."

\--

Curtis shrugged, scratched at his scalp. 

He tried to find something else to bring up, because he didn't want that to hang there. "...you want to see if anybody's on that group floor?"

\--

Bucky gave him a critical look and shrugged, sitting up more and blinking. "If you want to." He said neutrally, standing suddenly to throw the coffee away in the garbage. He untangled his hair from the tie, running his fingers through it until it was laying down the way he wanted to, strapping the hair tie onto his right wrist.

\--

Curtis shrugged. "I'm just not much of a, uh," he stood, "a couch potato."

He knew that was the phrase but it sounded so fucking stupid, and it came out of him oddly, words foreign in his mouth. 

"You said besides this," he threw a thumb at the tv, "you also spar...?" He just didn't read Bucky's reaction as 'yeah, sure, lets go hang out with other people that'll go just fine.'

\--

"You wanna beat something bloody?" Bucky asked, cocking an eyebrow at the man. "That's sure to bring everybody out of their hidey-holes. Bet you ain't bet in a while, huh?" He gave a sideways smile because, sure, he didn't really want to socialize at the moment, but socializing while _beating_ things is something he can do. And yes, he was very aware of how Fucked Up that is.

\--  
That perked him right up. And yeah, that was probably something to worry about, but Curtis was right there with him. Hell, if he'd known Bucky would take to it so quick, he would've suggested it sooner. 

"Nah, there's a lot of gambling in the Tail," Curtis said, coming around the couch, closer to Barnes, "what's the bet?"

\--

He took a moment to pull his hair back up, because if there's even the potential of fists flying, he is _not_ keeping his hair down (never liked it really, but it never mattered before), movements quicker and full of more energy before because, wow, he has not sparred in about a week and that is always the _best_ thing to get him back to normal after a break like today's. "Well, we generally bet on who's gonna win. Oh man, I wonder if Thor's around."

He tugs his phone out and starts to text rapidly, efficiently, already making for the stairs at the end of the hall. "Or," He continued, glancing up and over to Curtis, "How long the fight will last. I remember Steve was once so mad he and Thor fought for six hours straight. Real kicker."

\--

Curtis followed a step or two behind, whistled low. "Thor like that _god_ guy? Steve's a match for _him_?" 

There was a bit more pep in Curtis' step, he had to admit. This didn't sound half bad. Hell, this sounded _fun._ No food, not media, just fists, something Curtis had relied on before Gilliam and after. And anything he learned here, he could take home and use when the day came to take the front.

\--

"Not really." Bucky said, skipping _up_ the stairs this time rather than down. "Thor had to carry him out of the gym at the end." He turned back and grinned at him, eyes excited and wild. "Generally meddling serums are no match for thunder aliens."

\--

Curtis chuckled, shaking his head. Barnes was a whole new man! "'m surprised you didn't suggest this earlier," he said, having to take the stairs two at a time to keep pace. Not that it wasn't ridiculously easy to.

\--

"Well," Bucky replied, shrugging languidly, "It's not like I assumed you'd want to spar right off the back. Plus, we've been sort of busy." He batted his eyelids at Curtis, pouting. "Can't beat each other up when we're not even there."

\--

That actually got a laugh, surprised but true. "Better late then never, I guess."

\--

It was up a few more flights of stairs until Bucky finally slowed, rubbing at his temple as he tried to remember damnit, which floor the gym and training rooms were at. He never could remember the tiniest details, had lost those neuron connections a while ago. They were starting to come back, of course, as his brain slowly healed, but still. Annoying nonetheless. He did know the floor was one above the last of the guest rooms, and figured that out accordingly, pressing an ear against the door before opening it, grinning wildly and flourishing his hands. He looked backwards, preening a little. "I knew I remembered it."

\--

"Lookit you," Curtis said. The banter felt easy, had felt easy all day, but was also his only distraction thus far. Now he trailed Bucky into the gym, or training room, or whatever, and started rolling out his shoulder. "So, how do you decide who goes first?"

\--

"Whoever shows up." Bucky replied, glancing up to a cat-walk like loft, saluting to the blond that was sitting there, typing away on his phone. "And whoever wants to actually spar." He turned back around, grinning at Curtis before stepping into the room more, slipping his shirt off as though the gym just _begged_ for nudity. He hardly even flinched when a blond man jumped down from the catwalk, lounging in sweats and a T-Shirt.

He turned to Curtis, giving a good-natured smirk. "Hey. I'm Clint. Heard about the," He wriggled his fingers, making a wonky facial expression, "Weirdness. So. It's _not_ multiple personalities. So you _don’t_ need to go to a mental institute, or nothing, right?"

\--

"Right," Curtis said. He offered him his hand. "'m Curtis. You stickin' around or getting out before the betting starts?"

\--

"Nat and Stark comin?'" Clint turned and asked Bucky, raising an eyebrow. The way his hair was sticking up and his loose, sluggish movements, it seemed as though he had just woken up, though why he chose to sleep up _there_ was a mystery. 

"Mmm... I think them two, yeah. I texted everyone, dunno who all is comin.""

Clint nodded, turning back to Curtis and grasping his hand with both of his, shaking enthusiastically. "Curtis. Good. You're gonna brawl, too, then?"

\--

"Oh yeah," he said, a smile in his eyes. "Might not know what the fuck I'm doing, but I want to give it a go."

\--

"I like you already." Clint leaned upwards and ruffled Curtis' shorn head, stepping back a bit to survey the room. "It's like Fight Club, yeah? One fight at a time, if the other says stop, stop. All that fun fun jazz." 

"Tony said he's on his way. Nat didn't answer." Bucky said, tossing his phone back into his pocket. If Nat didn't answer immediately, chances were she was busy. Which was a-ok for everyone else.

\--

Curtis jerked away from the touch but tried not to look too insulted. Just--wow. Personal space, guy. He took a step away from Clint as he asked Barnes, "Does Tony even fight?"

\--

Clint snorted at Curtis' reaction, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, a bit. He ain't as good as say, me or Nat, but he tries. We've all been teaching him a thing or two." Bucky nodded, tilting his head. "Why? 's it him you wanna fight? I assure you, we made him promise not to use the armor."

\--

Christ, he could, couldn't he. He could punch Tony Stark in the face. 

That would end terribly. 

"No," Curtis said, and then again, "no." He scratched at his scalp, a hunch to his shoulders, "kinda need him functional if he's gonna prevent the apocalypse."

\--

Bucky gave him a look and Clint gave another snort, both of them shaking their heads. "We're not trying to _kill_ our partners," Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.

Clint filtered a look over at him, hands on his hips. "Oh, like you're one to talk, Soviet Killer. You _hospitalized_ me one time."

"That was three months ago." Bucky sniffed, turning to the elevator doors a beat before they opened and Tony strolled out, changed from his clothes before into something a little more appropriate for brawling. He had a swagger to his step, even more so than usual. It was like when he didn’t have something particularly engaging for his brain- Like the papers on the CW7, or information on the Snowpiercer, his arrogance rose even higher, popped out in longer and more intense bursts. Like he was making up for a lack of…. Something. 

\--

Curtis shrugged, his expression drawing closer to neutral. "I don't know my own strength," he said easily. "Not yet, anyways."

And there was Tony. Curtis bit back a question about how things were going with CW7. They likely _weren't._

\--

"Tony, yeah, hello. You're going with Clint today." Bucky said in greeting, pointing the genius over to the blond with a sharp grin. "I'm going to be roughing up Curtis." He looked over at the man in question, raising his brow. "I can take a punch."

There was little _more_ of a charge in the room than usual, and Bucky was unsure of how to take it- What it meant, what to do about it. But he felt an even larger frenzy than most days, something in his heart thumping louder, harder. More erratic. 

Maybe fighting would help.

\--

The corner of his lip quirked up and he gave Barnes a nod before he pulled his own shirt over his head and tossed it next to the assassin's. "After you," because fuck if he knew where and when to start.

\--

Clint and Tony sat back at the wall of the room, murmuring among themselves. At the last minute, Clint piped up, "Don't worry Bucky... If it actually _does_ turn Fight Club we'll handle it!"

Bucky glared over at the two of them, looking away when both men gave him a thumbs up, and then took in Curtis. Took in how he was Steve but not-Steve in stance and posture, and acted accordingly. Steve might be a man to widen his feet and let the first man go after him, but not Bucky. Not the Soldier. He breathed deeply for a moment, then darted forward, limbs quick as daggers (acutely aware that _yes_ there was a knife in his pocket) as he feigned a punch to his jaw and switched to his stomach.

He was trying to be mild, in his performance- If he acted too rough, too intense, there was a very real possibility that his broken, damaged mind would resort to previous memories of torture, of training, and the mannerisms of the Soldier could pop out. 

That wasn’t an option right now. He was certain that Curtis could handle himself, to an extent. And at least he was in Steve’s body, should it get too rough- But, well, there was a saying that a man with a black belt was much less dangerous than that of someone who just started. Curtis may have the body, but he didn’t have the finesse- He could accidentally move harder than he intended, or just not know how exactly to block, defend…. Attack. 

So Bucky had to be careful. Take control. 

\--

Curtis swore and staggered back so quickly he lost his footing and toppled over. He covered his head with one arm and his gut with the other as he kicked in Barnes' general direction. 

Well, this was already going well.

\--

Bucky blinked, stepping back slightly, waiting for Curtis to get his footing. Right. Well, he wasn't one to wait for a punch, but if Curtis couldn't even block him when he's going _easy_... Then again, the kid probably didn't have as much experience as he did. Maybe, maybe he would have matched him if it was 1941 and they had a brawl in some back alley, but not anymore. Not when his mind catalogs every and any movement that he makes and whispers in black ribbons a dozen ways to kill him.

\--

When no blow came, Curtis uncurled, realized Barnes had stopped his pursuit. He pushed himself to his feet. 

"A little warning next time?" he said, his anger and embarrassment pushing his voice just a touch higher than usual.

\--

"You gave me the go-ahead." Bucky replied, shrugging lightly, twisting his hands at the wrists and continuing to do so until he heard a pop and a whir in the flesh and metal hand respectively. 

\--

Curtis frowned. Had he? No. Well, kinda. _Fuck,_ it could've been taken that way. Oh, it didn't matter. He shook the tension out of his shoulders and actually took a stance, fists raised, form lacking any professional training, all brawler. 

"Les’ try it again."

\--

Bucky realized as soon as he took a stance that this was a bad idea. He'd give it another go and if not... Clint could take over, or something. With a shrug, he darted forwards again, glancing for a kidney-shot.

\--

Now that he was looking for it, reading Bucky's first move was easy and he tried to knock his arm away with a sweep of his own while he brought the other arm around, punch aimed at him jaw before Curtis could think better of it.

\--

That was... Better than the first one. At least he didn't fall back this time. He grinned and let the fight wash over him, allowed the normal thoughts that he suppressed, the ones of blood and fists, take him over. It wasn't the Soldier, because the Soldier would never smile during a fight, didn't know how to smile or frown or show any of those trivialities. 

He ducked the fist while swinging one of his arms around to Curtis, trying to go for simplistic. He didn't want to accidentally slip into something bloody.

\--

Barnes’ elbow caught him in the side of the head, but it didn't topple him. Through the stars in his vision, he took Barnes’ by one shoulder--the metal one--and waist of his jeans and tried to wrench the man bodily to the floor. 

\--

Bucky wrenched the shoulder out of the socket, it moving in a way that a normal arm could not but he really couldn't fault Curtis on the solid wrench. Still, with his flesh hand he grabbed onto Curtis' arm and _pulled_ as he fell, hoping to get the man on the ground before he twisted and landed on his haunches.

\--

They toppled over one another, Curtis an awkward heavy mass of limbs he wasn't sure how to control--or wanted to control, when he realized just a second too late what he'd done to Bucky's shoulder. He drew his hands away, pressed on his back under Barnes.

\--

And- Curtis wasn't fighting anymore. Bucky took a deep breath and rotated his arm in the right spot, scrambling backwards. Did he hurt him bad? "Whassit?" He asked, leaning back so he was leaning on his knees, head tilted.

\--

Curtis propped himself up on his elbows. "Your shoulder--" he said. Had he--hadn't he?

\--

"--Does that." He finished for Curtis, twisting the joint out of place again and rotating it on its axis to show him, and then putting it back into place. "They took some liberties with it."

\--

Well, its certainly unsettling to watch. He pushed himself back to his feet, tried to force the panic to die down. "No kidding."

\--

Bucky lifted himself from his crouch, nodding slowly. "You're probably not going to fuck me up too badly, so don't worry about holding back, okay?"

\--

Curtis nodded.

Man, he hoped he could ease up, soon. Could start having a little fun. He just felt so off-balance, between Barnes clearly being out of his league and his body not being his own. Sparring at home was comfortable--even when Grey was kicking his ass, Curtis was alright with it, because it was _Grey._ It was an old song and dance he knew well.

There had to be some part of this, sparring with a stranger as a stranger, that Curtis could enjoy. Barnes wasn't gonna kill him, so he didn't have to panic, and he wasn't gonna kill Barnes, so he still didn't have to panic. 

He let out another steadying breath and settled into a loose approximation of the stance he'd taken before. "Okay."

\--

Bucky nodded, tilted his head then decided that maybe, maybe taking the offense wasn't doing the best for Curtis. He gestured at Curtis to start instead, not wanting to voice it out loud because that was not how Bucky Barnes fought. Or the Soldier that was rolling and spitting just beneath his skin.

\--

_Just go with it, Curtis._

Curtis rushed forward, fists swinging, no finesse and no plan in mind past _move._

\--

There he went. That was better. No thought behind it, but it wasn't _over-thinking_ either. Bucky moved with him, sidestepping and defending and leaping forward, and some blows hit, some didn't, just a colliding whirlwind of throws and kicks and steps, not quite a dance this time around from Curtis' rough way of fighting. 

It was easier to get into a groove at that point- Just movement and anticipation. Nothing more. Getting to know a person’s body by the way they react, the way they move and groove to the dance of fighting. 

Sure, Bucky wasn’t using all his strength- Neither was Curtis. But it was still a tantalizing, close encounter.

\--

Curtis found, after a while, that he was having fun. Panting and sweaty, fists grappling and moving fervently. He’s always liked brawling, always enjoyed the release it gave him, something better than any other emotion he’s felt in a long time. 

It was a way to release his anger, his sorrow, His guilt. He could be punched and made bloody just as much as he was doing the punching. 

And yeah, it got to the point of blood, and that just added to the excitement. Curtis would feel guilty about it later, might even close up and refuse to even look at Bucky, but right now? He was like a shark. Vicious and brutal and slowly using more and more of the pent-up strength that Steve’s body lent him. 

After a particularly brutal shove (which had even Clint and Tony _oofing_ at), Curtis landed backwards on the ground. Before he was all the way vertical, though, he made sure to _pull_ on any part of Barnes he could. 

Which meant that there was another loud grunt, as Bucky fell over him. Practically straddling Curtis’ thighs, hands on either side and a wild, unfocused look to his eyes. A drop of blood fell from the corner of Bucky’s mouth, where Curtis had previously grazed him, and it fell to the tip of Curtis’ nose. 

For a moment, nothing happened. 

Nothing at all, in fact- Not even the continuation of the fight. No one tried to move or fidget. Barnes looked predatory, and Curtis realized that maybe he pushed Bucky too far. The carefree, easy stance he held before had disappeared; Now he was all taut muscles, an expressionless face, and an air about him that spoke of danger, destruction.

Curtis felt himself twitch. 

The air was thick, and distantly, Curtis remembered that Tony and Clint were in here. Watching. Perhaps even snickering that Curtis had been felled by the Winter Soldier, who’s arm slowly started to whir, spin in soft movement. Like Bucky was deliberating something, and he was overthinking and then-

Then-

Then there were no thoughts. For a blessed, wonderful, beautiful, _terrifying_ moment, there were absolutely no thoughts in Curtis’ head because-

Because he- 

Because Bucky had leaned down and was grazing his bloody lips across Curtis’ own, pushing in deeper, moving, in a mindless, happy, _passionate_ kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to find both authors on Tumblr at [Buckycurtis](http://buckycurtis.tumblr.com) and [Bluandorange](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com). Send us messages! Shower us in love! Feed us food and bake us cookies!
> 
> Ravenously, aka Buckycurtis, writes all parts for Steve and Bucky, including all the Avengers. They also edited the entire document and added the last snippets (from Curtis' POV). Bluandorange writes all parts that were any Snowpiercer characters and Curtis and Edgar.
> 
> The majority of this story was written in April-June of 2014- Some of the characterizations on my, Ravenously's, part are a little outdated; I tried to update and edit them, including adding a lot of story to the mix, to fix it. But some of the characterizations might be a little odd or out there, and I apologize. 
> 
> Also, the last snippet is something I've wanted to add for a LONG time. This was me and Blu's first time having Bucky and Curtis interact, and it is now my, at least, main ship, along with Tonycurtis. And it all stemmed from this RP. So adding in the fact that they DO in fact kiss... Is. Well. 8>


	6. Train III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her beauty Minister Mason makes a visit. Happy birthday, your Benevolence Mister Wilford!

"Who teaches the children how to fight? " Steve asked, turning away from the teenagers to look at Edgar.

\--

"Children? Y'mean like real actual children?" Edgar motioned towards the halls of bunks, towards where school was being held in the third car down. "Or are you calling those dipshits children?" He threw a thumb towards the teenagers who, thankfully, hadn't tried pulling another stunt yet.

\--

Steve shrugged, glancing at both groups with equal curiosity. "Both, I suppose. Though I guess the smaller children wouldn't know to fight."

\--

"Nah--I mean they know how t'tumble some, but everyone's got an eye out, an' their parents don't wanna see them in any fights." Edgar shrugged. "Most'a us learned howta fight from old bastards like you."

\--

Steve looked down at his hands, then back up art Edgar, frowning. Sure, he was dirty and grime but there weren't any _wrinkles._ "I'm like. Thirty. That's not old."

\--

"Well, sure, yer not _Gilliam_ old, but yer fuckin' old. Anyone who can remember the old world is fucking old."

\--

"Well," Steve tilted his head, giving an undecipherable shrug. "Technically I'm older than Gilliam." He gave a small smirk, looking down at his hands again. "Though Curtis is... Physically older than me, by a couple of years."

\--

"You are so full of _shit,"_ Edgar said.

\--

"Maybe." Steve said, hiding a grin. "Or maybe I just find myself in strange circumstances."

\--

Edgar crossed his arms over his chest and raised one brow. "Arright. Explain."

\--

"I was born in 1918." Steve said, giving a slow shrug. "So. Technically I'm older than Gilliam. But I crashed a plane and lived under ice for seventy years, so I'm still... young, too."

\--

Edgar rolled his eyes, stance becoming less defensive and more exasperated. "Bullshit," he said, "nothing 'lives' under _ice._ " Ice is death, plain and simple.

\--

"I wasn't alive." Steve said, giving a slow shrug. "I just wasn't dead, either. I was unfrozen in 2012."

\--

"Right," Edgar said, clearly unconvinced. And yet, "But saying that was true, and its fuckin' not, I guess you would be pretty used to waking up in the future."

\--

"Maybe I should. Still jarring." He shrugged, frowning. "Not the biggest fan of trains, future or not." Steve said. 

\--

"Why not?" Edgar asked.

\--

"Bad things happen on trains." Steve murmured, sucking in a lower lip.

\--

Edgar snorted. "Yeah, they do," he said.

\--

"Yeah. So not very ‘swell’. " Steve tilted his head, blinking. 

\--

Edgar gave another snort at the phrasing, then pointed his eyes back out at the combatants. The pairs had switched off by then, the ones lingering on the walls trading places with those on the floor. Edgar didn't see them, though, his mind was elsewhere. 

Seventy years, under the ice, not alive but not dead. Was that even possible?

\--

"If you don't believe me, ask Gilliam. " Steve said lightly. "If doubt he believes me, but he knows the story. It's well-known."

\--

"Why the fuck would he know _your_ story?" Edgar asked. "Why do you have a story?" It just didn't make sense to him. Steve was a stranger, probably just a new personality inside Curtis head. How could he honestly have his own life and why would anyone on the train know about it?

\--

"You are really irritating." Steve commented, gesturing at him with his pointer finger. "But... Uh. Because it's a well- _known_ story. People who were wartime... Celebrities," Because he would not call himself a hero, no he would not, "That go missing and then turn up seventy years later, still at the prime of their life? Pretty big story. And Gilliam knows it since he lived through that era."

\--

Edgar squinted at him, considering him. "Are you saying anyone your age would know who you are? From the old world. Cuz yer a fuckin celebrity."

\--

Steve thought for a beat then said, "Yes." And left it at that.

\--

"Fine. Prove it." Edgar put his hands on his hips. "What would I have to ask one of them to get them to tell me about you?"

\--

"Ask them about Captain America." Steve said in mild annoyance, lifting a shoulder in a very passive gesture.

\--

Edgar considered Steve for a long moment before dragging one hand down his face with a groan. "I can't believe it. You almost had me, you were _this fucking close_ , Christ." He shook his head. "I cannot believe you actually managed to say that with a straight face, fucking hell."

\--

"...And that is why I didn't even try, before." Steve said, taking a deep, sighing breath.

\--

Edgar's jeering fell away and he considered Steve for another moment. Then he turned back to his troops, gave their progress a quick once-over before calling out, "Arright, take a break, y'shitheads!" Insults were hurled back at him, but it was obvious from their faces that the exchange was at least somewhat affectionate. 

Edgar turned back to Steve. "If yer not pulling my leg, then you go and ask."

\--

"Ask who what now?" Steve asked, pulling down his brow slightly.

\--

"Go ask someone who'd remember this bullshit _Captain America_ story of yours," Edgar said. 

Edgar was not thinking that this was a terrible idea and such a conversation would be so Very Outside of Curtis' character. He just thought Steve was a piece of shit liar and was being an immature brat about it.

\--

"How about I don't. Only like half the people here would probably know who I am, anyways." Steve said flippantly, raising an eyebrow. "Considering the whole 'let's keep this internal' thing. Which. Why'd the kid I fought look so confused? Thought he was around us when I explained everything to Gilliam."

\--

Edgar looked away after the 'internal' comment, the realization hitting him that he'd almost fucked up and big. He was grateful that Steve caught that and refused, but at the same time he didn't want to owe Steve anything. And it was Steve's fault in the first place!

But Steve had gone on, and asked about Grey, which gave Edgar something else to focus on. He shrugged. "Maybe he jus' wasn' listening at that part."

\--

Weird." Steve said, shrugging lightly. Convenient, too, if he thought about it. But he'd promised not to jump to conclusions, and so he didn't. 

\--

"Well he's polite like that, inn'e?" Edgar said, just a hint defensive. He hadn't forgotten the time one of the guards called Grey weird, 'freaky', made Grey strip and showed all the tattoos to his friend as they laughed. Grey had soldiered through it, just made sure to wear a shirt the next meal and every meal after, but it continued to spark something in Edgar. Especially because Grey hadn't been allowed to fight back.

\--

"Yeah, I s'pose. He seems like a good kid." Steve replied, shrugging lightly. It was true enough. Grey had seemed like a good-natured fella with a good fist, but hesitant and polite enough to show that he had manners. Steve can respect that, a lot. 

\--

Whatever retort Edgar might've snapped off at him died in the kid's throat as the sirens started to blare, the lights on the walls pulsing bright to dim to bright again. 

"What the _fuck_ ," Edgar said. He stood there, stunned and possibly even a little frightened, before he turned and started shouting at someone to get 'those fucking things down!' The soldiers scrambled, tossing their weapons towards the bed rows and yanking the targets free from the walls. They were helped by passengers already migrating from the back forward.

Already people were asking Curtis what was going on.

\--

So. This wasn't something normal, then. Of course it wasn't. Naturally. Steve tried to ignore as many as he could, just giving a vague 'Relax, everything is fine' whenever someone was _too_ pressing to him. He practically glued himself to Edgar which probably wasn't the best thing in the world but the kid was _calmer_ than most, even under the fright and shock.

\--

Edgar tried to step in where Steve couldn't--telling people it didn't _matter_ what it was, just to get all that shit out of the way and get in line before the doors opened. As usual, he let several rows file in in front of him, taking Steve by the sleeve just to make sure he didn't go off trying to follow. They wouldn't be able to talk if they were in too close and they didn't want to draw attention. 

They had about a minute to get situated before the lock disengaged and the door opened. Edgar peeked over heads as the guards stepped out--it was more than the usual four and he couldn't see the food cart. He was pretty sure he saw blue officer uniforms past the black of the guards, and a familiar mop of mousy brown hair. He swore.

\--

"This isn't normal- What's wrong?" Steve whispered to Edgar, keeping as close to the man as he possibly could.

\--

"Dunno yet," Edgar said, watching wide-eyed as the guards started doing the head-count. He yanked on Steve's sleeve when it was time for their row and sat. Now he could _definitely_ see Mason, her brawny guards, and her small platoon of officers. "Minister Mason is gracing us with her presence, and that's never a good thing." Edgar started to fidget, chewing at the inside of his cheek before he said, "Fuck, if they found us out--"

\--

"They couldn't have," Steve said from the ground, quietly positive. "Only two people know. There's no way for that to get to... The front, then, that's it?" 

\--

Well, points for calming him down, Steve. Now he's too annoyed with you to look terrified. He shoots him a look, mouth open, utterly incredulous. "Not _that_ ," he hissed. "Fucking-- _think_." For clarification, he pointed a finger--low behind the back of the person in front of him, too low to be seen by the guards--at one of the men in the row with them. He was one of the Tail's soldiers, who'd been training just a few minutes before the alarms.

\--

"...Oh." Idiotic, Steve, good job with that. Edgar probably thinks him a giant idiot. Which. Yeah, okay, maybe he was being a little narrow-minded with what was important and what wasn't. He glanced up at the front of the lines, to the guards, tilting his head slightly as he tried to analyze, to capture everything and think about it later. It could be important.

\--

Once all the Tail had been counted, the guard turned and nodded to the officers loitering near the door. They filed in, followed by Mason, her mooks in their well-tailored, dark blue suits bookending the procession. Mason was introduced to the Tail by her officers, in several languages, while she was handed a mic to fiddle with. She tapped it a few times, the feedback it caused overpowering her officer's words, not that she seemed to notice, or care. Her introduction ended, and she turned to her audience and gave them a flat, forced smile. 

"Good Morning, Tail Section," she said. There was a pause, like she expected an answer, but no one spoke. The Tail stared back at her, as a collective, expression neutral and voices silent. "And what a good morning it 'tis," she continued. "for it was on this very morning, many years ago, that your benefactor, and mine, the Divine Keeper of the Sacred Engine, the good and Holy Mr. Wilford, was born."

Edgar let out a quiet, harsh breath. He fidgeted, minutely. So _this_ was why she was here? Fuck. It was a relief, in its own way--this meant it wasn't about the revolution--but Edgar fucking _hated_ Wilford's birthday. "Better get comfortable," Edgar whispered to Steve.

\--

Steve blinked at the woman's words, trying to wrap it around his mind. Was this place a goddamn cult? It was starting to seem that way. With whoever Wilford was at the head if it all. How. Unsettling.

"This happen every year?" He whispered, eyeing the guards and Mason with a quick look, careful to filter out the mild disgust.

\--

"Yeah," Edgar said. 

"Today," Mason was saying, "is a day of celebration, and also a day of reflection."

"Lucky for you," Edgar hissed, "it comes with a history lesson.” 

"Today, we reflect on the fortunes of our station, and for you in the Tail, that means your station as _guests_ of the benevolent Wilford. For were it not for Wilford, for his choosing, out of the kindness of his heart, to take you from those stations seventeen years ago, without asking for so much as a _penny_ in return, _none_ of you would be alive today."

\--  
Steve listened raptly and his mouth slowly twisted, seeing where this story was finally going. Sure, he'd gotten bits and pieces, but this... from a woman who could probably _buy_ everyone in the tail end should she so please, hammered it into his head. "Well. " he huffed, scrubbing a hand down his face. 

\--

"So it is a wonder," Mason said, "how you could.. _.consistently_ disgrace his good offerings. When he has done nothing but _shelter_ and _feed_ you, you, _you_ , choose again and again to spit back in his face." She let that hang for a moment, adjusted her fur coat, and met several of the Tail's passengers in the eye. Each looked away. She raised the mic again, "today we remember that, too." The 'we' was no longer the Tail, though. "We remember McGregor. One of your own. One of the Tail, who thought he could _take_ more than he'd earned. He didn't get very far, did he?" Her smile was brief and nasty. "And what did he do for _you_? Besides bring you disgrace? And hardship? McGregor was not a hero, my friends, he was a _user_ and a _glutton_ and a disruption to the balance our lives, our very _lives_ depend on.”

Mason licked her lips, trying to appear tall and graceful and less haggard and buzzard-like than she actually was. Her lips lifted up just fractionally, before she said, “So it is." 

\--

Steve blinks at her words, tensing almost involuntarily at the disgust and horrid attempts at manipulation. Jesus, but he's dealt with with this shit enough. 

He knew the conditions were bad, that they were fed lies and filth on a daily basis, but he didn’t know they were actively fed propaganda, manipulative guilt trips from the Front itself. "Okay. I see where you are all coming from now." He whispered, huffing out out a breath. He did before. But now it was sinking in, finally. The haze removing itself from his brain and letting him feel that sharp, deep wound of anger for really? The first time. True emotions. 

All at the hands of this lunatic.

\--

Edgar looked like he wanted to smack Steve upside the head and spit some choice curses at him. Really? He'd needed _this_ to happen before he got with the program? Asshole. Edgar didn't say anything and only looked at him for a moment, before his eyes went back to the front of the car. Everyone's eyes were facing forward, even though no one wanted to be here, to look at these people from the Front, and listen to Mason drone about Wilford, his Engine or his 'kindness'.

When she was done reminding the Tail of McGregor's failures, of his unholy campaign against Wilford and the Front, she snapped her fingers and was handed a list. From it she started listing petty instances of disobedience enacted by the Tail. The days people fought in the food line. The days someone talked back to the guards. The days people tried to _fight_ guards. The days their children were offered medical attention and the privilege was met with violence. The people of the Tail were quiet and still for most of these, but it was always the med checks that caused someone to squirm, that had people reaching for other's. 

" _This_ ," Mason said, snapping the paper as she finished, "this is the thanks Wilford gets, from _you_. This, this is the Tail biting the hand that feeds it. _This_ is the Tail's gift to Wilford this year. This is des- _spicable"._

\--

Steve ignored Edgar completely. He had literally no capacity to pay attention to him right now, not when Mason was droning on and on about how ungrateful these people were being. Even though he was rather removed the situation, he could feel himself start to feel something akin to anger, jaw ticking as she continued. He watched her movements, her overly extravagant clothes compared to the tape-held rags that he himself was wearing, that everyone was wearing back here. 

He sat back, letting out a heavy breath. "Bullshit." He murmured.

\--

For a brief second, Edgar wondered if Curtis was back, but when he looked over, he realized the posture was all wrong. Steve held his head too high, raised his chin, wasn't curled into himself like Curtis got during head counts and Mason's speeches. Steve was sticking out. 

His shifting caught Mason's eye and she squinted, wearing that half-smile that was all teeth. "What was that? Does someone have something to _say?"_

Edgar grabbed Steve's wrist and _squeezed_ , eyes still forward, everything about him tense in that moment.

\--

Steve breathed out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, taking in the fear from Edgar that he could practically _feel_ , hunching himself down slightly. Right. Glaring at the front probably wasn't the _wisest_ way to go about things. He tried to make his gaze a little less piercing, a little more droney. A little less conspicuous. 

\--

"Well, come on, speak up. Here's your chance," Mason made a beckoning motion and Edgar's hand tightened again. "No? Anyone else? Really? No takers, alright, well, that's too bad. Where was I--ah, yes, the gifts of the Tail. I wonder, do any of you know just how much energy is expelled each and every day to produce the food which Wilford graciously provides you?"

\--

Steve really didn't know if Edgar kept squeezing his wrist to keep _Steve_ quiet, or if he really was just that stressed and scared about the whole ordeal. Maybe a mix of both, at this point. Though, it did let Steve wonder about everything this conniving manipulator was trying to say. He filtered a quick glance to Edgar and then was looking towards the front again, trying not to frown at the kid's tension. "Relax." He whispered, hardly moving his mouth. Even if he shouldn't relax, Steve understand that he needed to seem that way.

\--

Edgar jerked his hand off of Steve, shifted, settled down again hunched over his own knees. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, crossed them again just generally looking embarrassed that he needed chiding in the first place. 

Mason was still speaking, saying, "Did you know, it takes the machine that produces your food an average of three minutes to manufacture a day’s worth of Protein Blocks. In those same three minutes, that machine uses more energy than it takes to keep the lights burning in this section for a single day. It uses more energy than that used to purify a day’s worth of water. Think, for a moment, where that energy could better be applied."

Edgar sighed through his nose and set his chin on his knees. He knew where this was going.

\--

Steve was officially annoyed at how much Edgar needed to move around, but it was something distant in his head as he listened to Mason, leaning in despite himself to listen. Damn, but she may be saying a bunch of bullshit, but she did have a good speaking voice. Well, the inflections, at least. Her voice made Steve want to punch something.

It was expectant, demanding- Spoken with an intonation that who’s message was ‘If you don’t believe what I’m saying, then you’re delusional.’ And sure, clearly no one believed her- Everyone was trying not to fidget, trying not to look pissed or worse-, but… It was impossible not to listen. 

She had the voice of a manipulator. And Steve’s dealt with enough of those.

\--

"This year," said Mason, "your gift to Wilford will not be yet another show of disrespect, but to selflessly go without, as he has gone without, in order to provide for you, to provide for us _all._ " She motioned around, put on a fake smile. "There will be no protein blocks today. So it is." The mic went off with a snap. Guards stepped forward, motioned with guns and told the passengers to stay seated as Mason and her procession filed out. 

There was a child in the back--most of the children were kept in the back during the headcounts--who started asking if "she meant that", and soon began to cry. One of the guards raised his gun and shouted for them to "shut up back there". The child's mouth was covered and their cries were muffled until they became too quiet to carry across the car. 

\--

Steve narrowed his eyes and nearly stood up in anger, but he controlled himself, didn't want to be at the end of the gun when the body he was using wasn't even his. His limbs were tense and almost vibrating from anger, muscles bunched and straining. This whole ordeal- The manipulation and easy way Minister Mason delivered the news, the crying of the child, the _audacity_ to treat any human being like this... Steve wanted to run up to the front of the train and punch Mason’s ugly little mouth out. Make a bloody mess of her face. 

He doubted she knew or cared how disgustingly horrible the conditions of the Tail were. She had the inflections and stance of someone who believed the bullshit she was spouting- Which was worse, more dangerous, than someone who knew their words were a lie. 

Sure, her exaggerations and fluffy, pretentious speech was hyped up, more than even she could believe- But there was an underlying feeling of _truth_ radiating from her- She truly believed the Tail deserved to go without their barely-nourishing protein blocks, truly believed that their very _existence_ was a mercy that should make the Tail folk bow down and worship the Eternal Engine. 

It was disgusting. Horrifying. She and this Benevolent Mr. Wilford reminded Steve of every regime and evil dictatorial organization he’d fought since becoming something more, becoming someone who could fight and make a difference. 

It took every ounce of willpower in Steve’s body not to start a commotion right now. The only thing stopping him was. Well. He needed to know more. He needed- As reckless as he was, he couldn’t put the children and the Tail folk in danger because of something hastily brought into. A rare moment of _reflection_ , perhaps, but… 

It seemed necessary to keep the peace and resort only to glaring at the back of Mason’s garish form. 

\--

This time when Edgar reached for him, he took the sleeve of his coat, just under the shoulder. "Not now," he said, quick and chipped because he was just as furious. If Curtis had been there, it may have been the other way around--Curtis holding Edgar back--, but maybe not. Curtis got edgy every time they withheld food. Real edgy.

\--

Steve huffed out out a breath, turning to Edgar for a moment, deflating somewhat. "Sorry." He murmured, and there was so _much_ in that single word. Sorry for getting angry. Sorry this happened. Sorry you have to _deal_ with this. Sorry that somehow… Somehow in the past, he was unable to stop this from happening. He slipped the cap off his head, scratching at his head so he was doing _something_ with his hands that didn’t involve anything violent or self-harmful.

\--

Edgar let go of him and sat back, ass to the cold train floor. He shook his head, shrugged, didn't say there was no reason for apologies, but didn't really take it either. He watched as one by one, the gates closed, and the Tail was alone with itself. Slowly, people started to stand, Edgar joining them, and soon the car was filled with talking, with people arguing and voices rising louder as the protests began. People turned to Steve and asked "how much longer do we have to put up with this", and "how can they keep doing this to us", and "Curtis, when are you gonna tell us the plan?" 

\--

Steve ticked his jaw and stood sooner than most of them, restless energy pooling into his gut as the anger had no other place to go. He gave vague enough answers of 'Soon enough' and 'Don't rush it' to anyone who asked him, avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

He was upset- Visibly so- and didn’t want to have to play pretend to be some short-tempered hero named Curtis. Curtis was the one they wanted; the one who knew how to deal with these catastrophes, who knew every person in the Tail by name. 

Who understood and lived through this and was overall more deserving of a position of power than Steve could ever be, to these people. And yet, they all looked towards him. It wasn’t what he wanted- He wanted nothing more than to help, but how much could he help as a clueless, ignorant person from the past?

So. ‘Soon enough.’ ‘Don’t rush it.’ Those were the only condolences he could give.

\--

Edgar tried to answer people, too, tried to pull their attention away from Steve, even though he was actually _handling_ things this time, sounded like Curtis, even if he didn't stand like him. 

Tapping--wood on metal--cut through the cacophony of the train car, and either people heard it and stopped, or were shushed by their neighbors. Soon, the only sound was that of a couple of kids, asking their parents loud questions, or crying, frightened by the sudden surge of aggression all around them. The mass parted and Gilliam was wheeled forward by Grey. 

"There's no use shouting," he said, voice cracking from the strain of raising it to be heard. "Save your energy. We'll all be tired come morning." He stopped across from Steve, met his eyes and said, "I think it'd be best if our soldiers rest today." 

\--

Steve blinked as Gilliam was wheeled in, listened to him without inclining his head this time. Considering the way Edgar had explained Curtis' reverence, it wouldn't do to look as though he hardly trusted the guy. So he nodded, saying, "Right." He huffed out a breath and turned, raising his voice. "Alright, everyone, no food, no training. Take it easy today." That was brisk enough, right? He was seriously going to have to figure all this out in due time. But there was still rage coloring his tones, despite his measures taken to bleed them out, head still pounding at the injustices these men and women had to face.

\--

The exchange was enough for their flock. Edgar followed it with shooing motions and "Y'heard him," but it wasn't needed. Their leaders had spoken and they all agreed, and the people of the tail funneled down the two hallways that made up their world, and one by one pulled themselves back into their bunks. A few lingered on the floor, fitting into alcoves and holding quiet conversations, but most did not. Depression had followed in the wake of their anger, and it overtook the Tail. 

Gilliam lingered, watched Steve carefully. "They don't always find such poetic reasons," he said. And added, "Do they?" to mask his statement.

\--

Steve rubbed at his face again, slipping the hat back on now that the excitement was over and he was able to breathe. Speaking of which... He took a few deep breaths, nodding slowly. He turned to Gilliam, shrugging. "I find myself more and more incredulous each time." 

\--

Gilliam gave a short, one-note laugh that shook his frail shoulders. Then he gave Grey a nod and the teen started turning him around, preparing to push him down one of the alley-ways. Gilliam gestured for Steve to follow them. Edgar watched Steve, teeth biting into his cheek, ready to follow his lead.

\--  
Steve hesitated for a beat before following Grey and Gilliam, sticking his hands into the pockets of his coat and trying pretty hard not to pull on the fabric to much. The fabric was threadbare and he was afraid of pushing down and breaking the coat on accident. He’d done it before, to his clothes, and even if he had less strength now… It was something in the back of his mind. Relax. Relax. 

\--

No one bothered them, so the trip back to Gilliam's place was quick and quiet. Most had taken the urge to rest quite literally, and had curled up in their tiny allotted space, trying to go back to sleep. People glanced their way but only briefly. Only Painter stared, drawing their small procession with a somber expression.

Gilliam first waved Grey to his post once he'd been pushed back his curtain, then motioned for Edgar to leave, too. Edgar looked like he wanted to argue, was working his mouth like it was there on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't, just shot a glance Steve's way and then saw himself out. Gilliam had yet to take his eyes off of Steve, and after a long, considering look, he glanced away and said, "may be best, that he wasn't here for all that."

\--

"Who? Curtis?" Steve asked as he settled himself in the small area, deciding to just sit himself on Gilliam's floor and look at the old man. He glanced down at his stomach but ignored the hunger pains, ignored the memories rising in his head to days in Brooklyn when they didn't have enough food to go around, when him and Buck just had to suck it up and deal. He tried to do it this time, not used to no food anymore.

He tried not to tighten his hands at Edgar's departure because really, the kid is the only one he actually _trusts_ in this place. Not Gilliam and his twisting words, not Grey who chose not to listen. No one but the honest kid with a fake accent. 

\--

Gilliam nodded. "It’s the tactic he hates most. When we first boarded," he shakes his head, sitting back in his chair, "there wasn't any food at all. It reminds him of then, of how things were, and what we...had to do to survive those times." He didn’t elaborate, but the tone of his voice- the severity of it- made it immensely clear what he was alluding to.

\--

Steve nodded slowly, rubbing at his lower jaw as he thought. The implications behind that could be absolutely horrid, absolutely dehumanizing and he sincerely hoped that he got his conclusions wrong. Because that just... 

But he knew he didn’t. He knew exactly what Gilliam meant. Perhaps not the extent of, perhaps not _who_ or what but… 

"Is that so. They do this bullshit often?" His voice was flat, devoid of any emotional connection. It was either that or a shaking, quivering voice, raw and strained from anger. He was doing everything in his power not to break down, let his anger consume him, and the only way to do that was… To be nothing. Empty. Listen and take in information to file away for later. 

\--

The old man hummed, considering his answer. "Now and then. After McGregor, there was practically a famine."

\--

Steve narrowed his eyes, dropping his head back. Really, he should be looking more towards how to get home more than he should be trying to sympathize and help all these people. As selfish as that is. At the end of the day, he doesn’t belong here- Curtis does. Curtis could do more help than Steve could, regardless of Steve’s past professions. 

He should want to get home, to Bucky, and safety and...

But he didn’t, and the thought of a _famine_ made his gut boil with anger. Food deprivation to make a point. Food deprivation in light of a history of _cannibalism._ Steve wanted, personally, to go punch WIlford’s face in. Kill the bastard before he got off to more of these poor people’s death and destruction. 

Wanted to give some lavish speech about… Anything, everyone, relating to these injustices. Just rant and spout out anger and vitriol. But all he could manage, all his throat croaked out was a gasped, "Jesus."

\--

Gilliam's smile was knowing and tired, and for a long moment, that's all he gave Steve in reply. 

"You must have questions," he said, finally.

\--

Steve clucked his tongue, filing away any and all information to his memory. But- Questions, right. So, so many. So many he didn’t know where to start. But... The most obvious one that had been niggling on the back of his mind, whose answer or lack thereof will answer a _lot_ of his questions... 

"Can your source be trusted? The one at the front? You know them for fact?"

\--

Gilliam rested his hand on the cane handle acting as its other and seemed to consider the question. "No," he said, "we can't be sure of anything." He shrugged, a laugh coloring his words as he said, "how could we?" 

\--

Steve huffed out a breath, nodding slowly. Right. Well, at least he was honest in his own way. "Okay. But. I'm guessing it's the only chance you've got, huh. To trust your ‘source’ and hope it’s not a trap.”

\--

Gilliam nodded. "Yes. The food," he waves his hand, "is just one of many things they do to hurt us. Seventeen years is a long time to be trapped in a box and treated like chattel." The laugh returned; "can you really blame us if we're desperate?"

\--

Steve could see why a man like Curtis, like any of the Tail, really, would learn to trust Gilliam. To seek out guidance from the old man. Even in a world of rage and panic, fear and filth, Gilliam carried himself like the world was fine. Like the wise, calm presence that anyone needed. 

Which wasn’t to say that Steve trusted him- Oh no. In fact, that revelation made him distrust Gilliam all the more. With that much trust put into a man, Gilliam could easily manipulate them all. With a snap of his fingers. And Steve was pretty sure Gilliam was doing just that.

"Not at all." Steve frowned, sliding his eyes closed for a moment. "I would have done something long ago, probably."

\--

Gilliam laughed. "Then you may not have made it this far. Of course, Captain America...he would certainly be in the front to begin with."

\--

Steve blinked and tilted his head, realizing after a moment that, yeah, Gilliam's probably right. He would have been able to afford it, had enough funds after New York and aliens and Stark. But still. "I wouldn't have let this happen."

And it didn’t matter, anyways. Because it’s not what happened. He wasn’t in the front lapping up the good fortunes of Mister WIlford. He was back here, in another man’s body. Though, it did make him think- Maybe Stark and himself and the other Avengers _were_ in the front. 

Or maybe not. The Avengers fought injustices. Tried to save things. Steve couldn’t see any of them- Especially Natasha, especially Bucky, not rising up at the first sign of manipulative propaganda. No. They would have been killed. Not sent back here. Killed. 

\--

"Would you have known?" Gilliam asked. "Do you think any of them know what _really_ happens back here? Even Mason doesn't know the full truth of it."

\--

"I don't know..." Steve muttered, sighing slightly because these theoreticals are annoying but also _important._ And didn’t matter in the long run. Considering he decided they’d all be dead in this future. Not able to help.

He gave the old man a short look. "Mason.Every word that came out of her mouth was poison.”

\--

Gilliam hummed his agreement. "You can tell she enjoys her work."

\--

"Yeah. Reminds me of a few people." Steve muttered, scratching at his jaw. Before his tone could turn potentially pointed, though, he decided to move on. Move on away from his anger at Mason, his distrust of Gilliam. 

"So... For the food thing. There's... No one has any food, at all? Is there anything we can scrounge together for the children, at least? The sick?"

\--

Gilliam smiled that secret, amused smile, like Steve had said something he'd been waiting to hear. He leaned down and with his human hand, tugged open what looked to be a make-shift cabinet. Inside were several protein bars of various sizes--there were a few fully intact, but most were halves or thirds. Gilliam sat back and gestured vaguely at the collection without another word.

\--

Steve looked down at the collection and then at Gilliam, frowning severely before grabbing a few, sitting back and studying them. Black and grainy, and smelling like a mixture of seaweed and fish. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.

He couldn’t help the anger leaking into his tone as he asked, "This- This is your food?" He asked, waggling one in the air, his grip so tight his thumbs were starting to leak into soft bar. He wouldn't eat it, oh no, not if no one else was. He'd give it to the children, to the weak. He could go a day without food. Even if his stomach was empty and growling, wanting some sort of nutrients.

And for a moment, he was the splitting image of Curtis, stance and all.

\--

"This close to the floor, they stay cool. They can keep for...well." He shrugged, not really knowing. "We keep them, for times like these. There should be more than enough for each of the children, perhaps some for the new mothers. And," he settled a little, back resting heavily on the worn leather strap that made up the back of his chair, "I want you to eat some, too. I'm not sure when Curtis ate last, but it's been a few days."

\--

"If there's any left over I'll eat." Steve replied numbly, grabbing a few more bars and standing, deciding to just make several trips. Evidently, there wasn't anything else to do for the day, so he had the time. And he was perfectly aware that none would be left over- There were only a few bars- a little more than two dozen at most- and he’d give them to whoever asked or needed them, before he himself ate. 

He wasn’t as important as the health of the others. After all, he was just a guest in their leader’s body. 

\--

Gilliam looked down and away, nodding to himself, then called, "Edgar," in his creaky voice. 

The teenager popped his head in a second later, "wha--"

"Help Curtis see to the children," Gilliam said, directing Edgar's attention to the rations box. The younger man knelt without question and began gathering up the slippery bars, just about able to carry what was left. When he stood, he gave Steve a glance up and down, trying to decide if Gilliam was covering or if Curtis really--if maybe--

\--

Steve blinked at Gilliam's address for him but shook it off, deciding it didn't really matter what the old man called him, even among people that knew about the predicament of his identity. Besides. The more casual they were with Steve being ‘Curtis’, the harder it would be to slip up. 

He gave a soft shake of his head, subtle really, because the kid was looking at him with all sorts of hope mixed into his expression. He didn’t want to burst his bubble but… Well. 

Standing, balancing the bars in his arms, Steve fidgeted for a couple seconds, getting everything comfortable. He cocked his head slightly, towards the front. "After the children, then the elderly." He said, moving for the flap of Gilliam’s ‘door.’ “Lead the way, Edgar.”

\--

Disappointment settled into Edgar's expression, but he nodded and headed out of the small back room. They drew attention almost immediately and Edgar was quick to say, "don't getcher hopes up; there's just enough for the kids. We're just feedin' the kids."

\--

 

Steve was almost hungry enough, almost, to want one of those bars. Almost. He was still disgusted enough by the thick, grainy texture to be able to look at it without feeling the urge to eat it, though. He followed after Edgar and let him do any talking, already exhausted by the... Fuck, was it still only morning? Jesus. 

He had noticed the expression on Edgar's face, and he tilted his head slightly, frowning. "Why'd you think I was... Y'know...?"

\--

Edgar glanced back at him, made a face and turned back around. "I didn't think nothin," he said. "Oy, Andrew!" He tossed one of the half-bars up to the curly-haired man from before, who'd told Edgar to watch his language around the children. The man caught the food gratefully, gave Edgar and Steve a thankful nod each, then offered the bar to his son, there, beside him. 

Word had already started down the car and soon parents were emerging from bunks and walking down the rows to meet them. Tanya was one of the first.

"Bless you, Curtis," Tanya said to Steve.

\--

"Sure." Steve muttered, but he quieted about anything else as he grew occupied by handing out the bars, shooting them and their children quiet looks.

"'Course. Kids need to eat." He replied to Tanya, tossing her one of his bars and smiling, even if it was fleeting and gone before anyone could say anything about it.

\--

Edgar kept stealing glances at Steve each time he spoke, and then, when Steve's back was turned, he slipped a fourth of one bar into his own pocket. 

His hands emptied pretty quickly after that. If he'd gotten the headcount right, though, they'd made sure every kid, and most of the new mothers who'd need the protein to make milk for their dumb babies, had at least half a bar to eat today. What they had left in Gilliam's rations box would have to be split among the elderly. 

Edgar glanced at Steve, nodded to the back and started there himself, only for his way to be blocked by Timmy. Timmy gave his slice of protein a long lick as he stared Edgar down. "You said we'd play," he told Edgar.

"Kinda busy here, Timbo," Edgar said.

"You _said_ yesterday," said Timmy. "You didn't, and I wanna _play."_

"Finish your bar, first, buddy," Edgar said, gave the kid's fro a pat and tried to squeeze past him. Timmy's face screwed up in frustration and betrayal.

\--

Steve followed Edgar and shrunk back slightly when he began to converse with Timmy, scratching down his jaw. Yes, the children were important, and he was glad to have fed them, but that didn't mean he wanted to _interact _with them. He'd never been good with children and babies, always vaguely worried that he wouldn’t know how to take care of them, not at all.__

__So no. Edgar could deal with the actual interactions._ _

__It gave him time to look around again, though. Not only at the train- The dismal lighting, the horrid, nasty smells wafting up almost constantly. But the people as well. Dirty, weak, skinny. Hair limp and face pallid, the whites of their eyes yellow in the most unhealthy manner they could be. Frail, thin hands, callused from years of trying to work, to keep the Tail as up-to-date as possible._ _

__Huddled in dark clothes, trying to seep up whatever heat they could._ _

__It made Steve sad. He looked down at his own borrowed body- Curtis was skinnier than he clearly let on, letting the bulk of his coat cover his sunken stomach and jutting hips. He looked well-packed and muscled, and sure, he was toned, had wiry strength threaded through his body, but he was skinny, with cheeks just as sallow as the rest of them._ _

__Steve wondered how often Curtis ate. Clearly not enough- There was a lowkey pain that transcended just regular meal deprivation, a constant banging in his head that screamed that he needed to _eat, eat, eat_. _ _

__He hoped, for his sake, that Curtis was in Stark Tower. Safe and with Bucky, maybe. Able to get a warm shower and a good meal and forget about the horrors of his home for just a day. Maybe a few. Not too long- Steve needed to get back, needed to help Bucky, needed to help _himself_ , but for now?_ _

__Steve looked at his callused, dirty fingers and clenched them, huffing out a small breath._ _

__For now, he was fine where he was. Curtis would get a break and then, when they switched, maybe something would get fixed around here; Maybe Steve could fix things. Help things._ _

__It was the least he could do. After all, when he got home, after he’d kissed Bucky senseless, he’d be safe and cushy. A few days of hard work were worth it._ _


End file.
